Lesser Gods

by Adrian Howell

  “Right tower! Right tower!”

  “I see them!”

  More popping noises.

  “Good kill! Good kill!”

  “Burn them out!”

  “Radio station is clear! Move! Move!”

  “Break it down! Fire in the hole!”

  The shouting, gunshots, and who-knew-what other sounds mixed together made it almost impossible to tell who was saying what. I strained to hear Terry’s voice, but couldn’t.

  Another burst of gunfire. This time, it sounded surprisingly real considering the quality of the transmission.

  Far too real, in fact.

  I snapped my head around as another round rang out, followed by rapid machinegun fire. One of the Knights standing beside me fell backwards, clutching his throat.

  “Get down!” shouted Mr. Watson, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the ground.

  Aside from the waist-high grass around us, our only cover in the clearing was Mr. Watson’s non-bulletproof SUV, and we put our backs against the vehicle as we tried to locate the source of the incoming fire. The SUV’s windows exploded and bits of shattered glass rained upon us. One of the vehicle’s tires burst with a loud bang. I could see the right foot of the fallen Knight twitching feebly nearby.

  “What the hell is going on?!” shouted the Knight who had earlier taken the rifle from my hands. I noticed he didn’t have his weapon with him now. He got up on his knees to look over the tall grass. Several bullets ripped into his upper body, and he fell onto his back, emitting a low hissing noise from his chest.

  I caught sight of Mr. Barnum’s face next to mine. He looked pale but in control.

  “We’re dead if we stay here,” he breathed.

  There were only four of us left, and the SUV was offering little or no cover. Our attackers, whoever they were, had encircled the clearing while we were busy listening to the transceiver.

  I reached for the button on my tracer band, hoping the Raven assault teams might notice my distress signal, but my thumb touched only skin. I had left the transmitter with Alia!

  “Hansel, get the radio off the roof!” shouted Mr. Watson.

  I couldn’t see the transceiver from my sitting position, but I knew where it was so I telekinetically locked onto it. The large transceiver had too much metal in it to levitate, but I could just barely drag it over the roof toward us.

  When the device fell at our feet, Mr. Watson picked it up and swore loudly. The transceiver had been shot to bits.

  Mr. Watson’s face was covered in blood, but he wasn’t injured. The blood was probably from the Knight who had just been killed. Still, Mr. Watson was being drained, and this was probably the sole reason he hadn’t turned invisible, discarded his clothes and made a run for it. A pair of eyeballs would have been hardly noticeable in the dark, and Mr. Watson looked panicked enough to do just about anything right now.

  “Painter! We need smoke!” Mr. Watson screamed wildly. “Fire the grass!”

  “I can’t,” breathed Mr. Barnum. “I can’t control it yet. We’ll burn up here.”

  More gunfire missed us. Our attackers knew basically where we were, but they were having trouble finding us in the grass.

  “Okay, we’re going to make a run for the trees,” said Mr. Watson, finally regaining some of his calm and throwing down the broken transceiver. “Two directions!”

  He grabbed Mr. Barnum and the other Knight by their sleeves and shouted, “You two, that way!” He pointed to the edge of the clearing that was closest to the SUV. There was no cover aside from the grass, but at least the distance wasn’t too great.

  “Hansel, with me!” commanded Mr. Watson, pointing toward the motorhome. “Over there!”

  Mr. Watson was planning for the two of us to use the motorhome as partial cover as we made a dash for the far side of the clearing. My gut told me that Mr. Barnum’s route offered better odds, but this was no time for argument.

  Mr. Watson grabbed the front of my shirt, saying, “And keep your feet on the ground, Hansel! You fly here and you’ll be shot to hell. Crouch low and move fast.”

  “Let’s do this,” I breathed.

  “On three!” said Mr. Watson, releasing my shirt. “Ready?! One! Two! Three!”

  My legs felt like rubber, but somehow they carried me. As Mr. Watson and I made a beeline for the motorhome, I could hardly hear the gunshots around me. All I really remember is keeping my head down, listening to my own shallow breathing and racing heart, and knowing that at any moment my life could end.

  Pudgy Mr. Watson wasn’t about to win any races. Between us, even with shorter legs, I was the faster runner. When I reached the front left of the motorhome, I realized that I was alone. But I had no time to think of what might have happened to Mr. Watson. I scrambled along the shadow side of the motorhome toward the rear.

  There were still twenty yards or so of open ground between the rear of the motorhome and the trees beyond. Nearing the end of my cover, I broke into a sprint to gain speed before the final stretch, but at that moment a shadowy shape appeared from around the corner of the vehicle.

  I plowed into the man. We both nearly lost our balance, but didn’t. The man had an assault rifle in his hands, but it was too unwieldy to use against someone grappling with him. With little thought, I rammed my right hand, palm open, into his stomach, and released the strongest telekinetic blast I could at point-blank range. The man screamed. I heard his backbone snap in two. I felt warm liquid drench my hand, draining my psionic power. Dropping his rifle, the man fell limply onto the ground, unmoving.

  Suddenly the large rear window of the motorhome shattered as another gunshot echoed across the clearing. Drained by the man’s blood covering my right hand, I knew I couldn’t fire any more telekinetic blasts. I grabbed the assault rifle from the ground and dragged it back to what I hoped was a safe spot against the side of the motorhome.

  I was too panicked to check if the safety was on or off, so I squeezed the trigger once. Four rounds fired in rapid succession before I let go of the trigger. It was on automatic.

  Compounded with the blood on my right hand, the assault rifle was draining me so much I was getting quite dizzy, but still I hung onto it for dear life. Swinging the heavy gun into a firing position, I cautiously crept back toward the front of the motorhome. I wasn’t even sure where I was going now, but I was afraid to make the final run to the trees from the rear. But where else could I go? My panicked eyes desperately searched for another route.

  A gunshot rang out behind me. I reflexively pulled the trigger as I spun around, emptying the entire clip in one long burst. The gun bucked wildly in my hands, and it was only by blind luck that the last few bullets found their mark. I heard a high-pitch shriek. As my pale-skinned attacker fell backwards, still clutching a thin hunting rifle, shoulder-length blond hair glinted in the moonlight. It was a woman.

  I looked toward the trees beyond her crumpled, motionless form. There was nothing for it. I’d have to risk the open before my indecision cost me my life.

  I heard footsteps approaching quickly. I couldn’t be sure of the direction, but they sounded like they were coming from the other side of the motorhome. I dropped the assault rifle and instantly felt most of my physical strength return. I still couldn’t use my power, but at least I could run.

  I was about to make another attempt for the trees, but that’s all I can remember from that night.

  Chapter 6: Voices in the Dark

  I came to, but my psionic power was completely drained and my eyes refused to focus. Blinking a few times, I realized that I was looking at the inside of a cloth blindfold wrapped tightly around my head. I wanted to remove the blindfold, but I discovered that my wrists were bound together behind my back by what felt like metal handcuffs.

  By now my other senses had started to recover, and I found that I was lying on my left side on what felt like a hard wooden floor. I had been stripped completely naked. The floor felt dusty under my bare body. Was this some kind of storage
room? I felt lightheaded and horribly thirsty.

  I heard the loud tick of a clock’s minute hand. I stopped trying to move and listened for other noises. I could hear muffled voices. They seemed to be coming from another room.

  My legs hadn’t been tied, but I didn’t dare try to stand up. The greatest pain in my body was focused on my left calf. At the moment, it was just a dull, throbbing pain, but it was the kind of pain that threatened to get a whole lot worse with the slightest movement. I lay perfectly still.

  What had happened to me?

  My memory of the night with Raven Three was slowly returning. I had blasted a hole through a man’s body, and then shot a woman dead. What had happened next?

  I couldn’t be entirely sure, but my best guess was that someone had shot me in my left calf from behind, possibly from under the motorhome. Having had my leg knocked out from under me, I had fallen backward and hit my head against something hard enough to render me unconscious.

  Now wasn’t the time for detailed recollection. I needed to get out of this place quickly. Somehow, I would have to master the pain in my leg and get to my feet.

  I heard footsteps approaching. Change of plan. I lay the left side of my head back on the floor and let my body go limp. I heard a door open, and several pairs of footsteps entered the room.

  A low growling voice said, “I still can’t believe we wasted bandages on this thing.”

  “He was bleeding out,” said a calmer voice that sounded a bit like Mark’s.

  “Let it bleed,” spat the growling voice. “Filthy demon.”

  Then a third man’s voice said, “I thought I’d seen it all, but I never expected a child psionic. What are we going to do with him?”

  “What we should’ve done yesterday,” said Growler. “Kill it and be done with.”

  “Not so fast,” said the calm one, who I guessed was their leader. “It’s rare we ever get one alive, and this one may be too young to send to the Lord quite yet. We will need to consult Father Lestor before we take further action.”

  Too scared to be embarrassed by my nudity, I lay motionless as the men continued to talk about me as if I were a lump of meat.

  “How old do you reckon he is?” asked voice number three.

  Leader Man answered, “Can’t be older than twelve.”

  Fourteen, I thought angrily, but I kept my mouth shut as a hand roughly grabbed my hair and turned my head slightly.

  “He’s seen some action, though,” said Number Three. “Missing ear, scars here and there... I’ll bet that’s even a bullet wound there, see?” I felt a finger poke my stomach. “Yep, definitely a bullet. This kid’s been put through the paces.”

  A pair of hands pushed me into a facedown position, and the forced movement caused my left calf to scream in agony. My body involuntarily tensed up, but somehow I managed to remain silent.

  “Look,” continued Number Three. “There’s a scar on his back, too. The bullet must have gone clean through him.”

  Growler laughed, saying, “So it wasn’t the demon’s first time to get shot.”

  “It’s not funny!” said Leader Man. “If the Guardians are so desperate for warriors that they’d use a child like this... Perhaps they are the greater evil still.”

  By now I was so thirsty that I considered letting them know I was awake so I could beg them for water.

  “Hey, what do you make of this mark on his arm?” asked Number Three. “P-47? What is that?”

  Since I was lying facedown now, they could see the tattoo on my left arm.

  “I don’t rightly know,” replied Leader Man. “I was wondering the same thing when I saw it earlier. I suppose it doesn’t matter much, but if you like, you can ask him when he wakes.”

  “You think he’ll wake?” asked Number Three.

  “It’s hard to tell,” replied Leader Man. “He’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “It has lost a lot of blood,” Growler corrected in a harsh voice. “And it’s about to lose a lot more.”

  I heard the sound of a pistol being cocked.

  “Holster that weapon, soldier!” commanded Leader Man.

  I waited, motionless, wondering if I was about to be executed.

  I heard Growler let out a frustrated sigh. “Why are we keeping this thing alive?”

  “Because he’s too young,” Leader Man replied simply.

  “Well, we can’t let this boy go just because of his age,” said Number Three. “I’m with you on this. Let’s finish him.”

  “No!” Leader Man said more severely. “We are the servants of God. We do not kill the innocent.”

  “This boy is hardly innocent!” argued Number Three.

  “He is a child still,” said Leader Man.

  “Nevertheless! He killed Tate and Katie!”

  “He was defending himself,” Leader Man said calmly. “We are not going to kill him. Not yet, anyway. His fate is for Father Lestor to decide. We will keep him alive until Father Lestor returns.”

  “It’s awake,” said Growler. “It’s listening to us!”

  “He’s not.”

  “Oh yeah? Watch this!”

  A firm hand grabbed my left calf just around the wound and shook it violently. I cried out in pain.

  Growler laughed. “See, it’s awake! The filthy demon almost had us there. What’s your name, demon?”

  “Hansel,” I said weakly.

  I knew I had nothing to gain by acting tough or refusing to answer. Considering how much trouble I was already in, it might seem silly that I’d still want to hide my real name, but it was the only bit of resistance I could manage.

  “You don’t look German,” said Number Three. “How old are you?”

  “Twelve,” I lied automatically. If I thought they’d believe me, I would have told them that I was three years old.

  Now that they knew I was awake, I decided not to wait any longer for the thing I needed most. “Water,” I begged. “Please... Water...”

  They ignored my plea, and Number Three asked, “Do you know why you’re here, Hansel?”

  I remained silent, and the man said, “You’re here because God has sent you to us. Soon he will judge you.”

  “Not soon enough,” said Growler. “You’ll pay us our due in blood first, demon.”

  Leader Man said sternly, “Father Lestor will decide whether he lives or dies! Not you!”

  “Perhaps,” said Growler. “But Father Lestor won’t be back for another two weeks. Don’t worry, I won’t kill it that easily.”

  A moment later, I heard Growler whisper into my left ear, “This is for Katie and Tate.”

  I tensed up my body, expecting to receive a thrashing at any moment, but instead I heard footsteps running toward us.

  “What is it, Sister?” asked Leader Man.

  “I believe it is official now,” a woman’s voice said breathlessly. “The Guardians have taken the Holy Land.”

  Growler snarled like a tiger. “Oh, that’s it!”

  I won’t bother describing what happened to me next. Fortunately, I was only conscious for a few more minutes anyway.

  When I woke again, I was still naked, this time lying on a cold stone floor. The moment I opened my eyes, they stung so horribly that I quickly shut them tight, which eased the pain only a little. My wrists were not cuffed, and when I pressed my palms over my eyelids, I noticed that I wasn’t wearing the blindfold either.

  Coughing once, I felt a sharp pain in my chest. I knew from experience that it was a cracked rib. Possibly two. Growler had kicked me pretty hard. Still, ribs were among my secondary worries at the moment.

  My thirst had reached its boiling point. I needed water so badly that I was ready to drink my own blood if I had to.

  Slowly, I forced myself to open my stinging eyes, but still I couldn’t see anything at all. It was pitch-black in here. I couldn’t even see my hands in front of my face.

  “Hello?” I whispered into the darkness. My voice was cracked, my mouth so parched it was pa
inful to speak.

  “Hello?” I called again, this time more loudly, and the effort made my damaged chest throb agonizingly.

  I noticed that my call had echoed slightly, and from the musty, cool air I was breathing, I gathered that I was in a windowless basement. That explained the utter absence of light. Giving up, I closed my eyes again.

  My whole body hurt from the beating I had received, and my bandaged left calf felt like it had swollen up like a balloon. I still felt very drained. Gingerly running my fingers over my body to see if anything else was damaged or broken, my hands eventually came to a heavy steel shackle on my right ankle. The thick chain attached to it clinked noisily as I pulled on it. I couldn’t tell how long the chain was, but I guessed that the other end was fixed to a wall.

  I was almost afraid to touch the bandages over the bullet wound on my left calf, and when I did, I instantly regretted it. Ignoring the pain in my eyes, I opened them again, hoping to see how bad my leg really was, but all I could see was murky darkness. I kept my eyes open, hoping they would adjust. Everything remained a blurry shade of very dark gray.

  A door creaked open. I froze as I heard footsteps enter the room, and suddenly the place became much brighter. Someone had turned on the lights.

  I blinked several times, but all I could see was thick creamy white mixed with indistinct patches of pink, and a small spot of shadow to my left. Even in the light, that was all I could see. And I finally understood.

  I was blind.

  “What the hell have you done to me?!” I shouted wildly into the light, ignoring the pain in my chest and reaching out with my arms to grab onto something. Anything.

  I tried to stand, but fell forward as the pain shot through my injured leg.

  “What have done to me?!” I yelled again in panic.

  “Silence, child!” a female voice answered harshly.

  “I can’t see! I can’t see!” I whimpered to myself in rising panic. “I can’t see anything!”

  “You will see soon enough,” said the woman. “You will see when the Lord takes you.”

  “What have you done?” I cried out feebly.

  “We have done nothing,” replied the callous voice. “This is God’s work, child. You will meet him soon, and he will release your soul from the evil that has taken you. Now eat.”