Pain shot through Sam’s body as the grizzly stranger stomped on Sam’s ribs again.  Sam was now on the floor, holding himself in a defensive ball.  The floor under him was now soaked with blood.  From his spot on the floor, Sam could only see the legs and feet of the cultists.  He dared not look up, and get a boot in his face, which still burned where he was shot.

            Paul had been shot too.  Sam had enough time to bear witness to Paul’s injury before being beaten into submission.  The boy’s wounds were a lot worse, for Sam had only been grazed.  It would leave a scar, but otherwise Sam would be fine.  That was, if he got out of this pinch in one piece.

            Zach was already dead; another good soldier to become a casualty of Sam’s poor judgment.  He had already gotten five of his own men killed, and for a moment, Sam wished he had been a casualty of last night’s ambush.  But Sam still had a responsibility.  Paul.  He couldn’t let them have the wounded soldier.  But how could lowly Sam Paterson stop the forces of an unholy crusade?  There were fucking three thousand of them.  Three thousand blood thirsty killers versus one pissed off ex-cop.

            Sure, Jack and Helen were out there somewhere, but would they really be able to carry out their assault?  What would happen when the messiah was assassinated?  Would the crazies just give up their mad quest and let their prisoners go?  Not bloody likely.  If he and Paul were to survive, it was all up to Sam.  But how?  Fucking how? Three thousand blood thirsty killers versus one pissed off ex-cop.

            The odds are certainly in my favor, Sam thought.

            Sam felt another ping of pain, but this time, not in his body.  His guilt became more intense with another realization.  Sam had dropped the grenade without pulling the pin.  He and Paul were as good as dead anyway, so why hadn’t Sam pulled the pin?  Jack and Helen were still out there, and Sam and Paul both knew about it.  They knew the basic plan.  As long as the two breathing dead soldiers knew about it, they were a potential threat to the two soldiers who might have a chance to get out alive, however slim.  For that, Sam deserved each and every blow from the grizzly man.  Sam deserved all the pain in the world.

            “You gonna behave now, or do you want more pain?” the grizzly man asked.

            Sam said nothing in return.

            “Good, now stand up.”

            Sam uncurled from his fetal position, and began to pull himself up.

            When Sam was on his knees, he remembered that he was armed.  He had knives, and pistols.  After knocking him to the ground, the cultists had not removed any of his weapons.  What the fuck, I’m dead either way, Sam thought.  His hand moved to one of his pistols.  Before he could pull the gun out and start shooting, something hit Sam’s face hard, and Sam was on the floor again.

            “We’ll have none of that shit,” the grizzly man said.  “The next time, I break your arms, you got that you dumb fuck?”

            Sam said nothing.  He decided that his best move was to show no fear.  The grizzly man seemed almost afraid of Sam a few minutes ago.  Never in his life had Sam done anything that deeply insane, and though it did not work the way he had wanted it to, it may have paid off in some other strange way.

            “On your feet,” the grizzly man said, “hands where I can see them!”

            Though the grizzly bastard shouted angrily, Sam could hear a quiver in the man’s voice.  The mother fucker really is afraid of me, Sam thought.  There might be some glimmer of hope, but Sam couldn’t see it.  At least not yet.  An enemy who is scared shitless can be the most dangerous kind, but they are also prone to fuck ups.

            Sam got to his feet, keeping his hands out in front of him.  Whether he scared the grizzly man or not, Sam did not want to get punched in the face again.

            “Good, keep ‘em there.”

            The grizzly man aimed his rifle at Sam’s stomach.

            “Pull any more shit and I’ll plug you, and it won’t be easy.  I’ll make sure you bleed to death.”

            He ordered one of the other cultists to get all of Sam’s weapons.  As he was being patted down, Sam took the opportunity to turn his head, and check on Paul.

            Apparently, Paul had realized that fighting was useless much sooner than Sam had, because the boy was being compliant.  Good boy, Sam thought, I want ‘em pissed at me.

            “Eyes front!” the grizzly man ordered.

            Sam looked forward as instructed and gazed into the grizzly man’s face, drilling his eyes.  Looking deep inside, Sam could see fear in Old Grizzly’s eyes, even in the darkness.

            “All done,” the cultist, who confiscated Sam’s weapons, said.

            “Good,” Grizzly said, and punched Sam in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.

            Sam keeled over, wheezing and clutching his stomach.  He felt someone grab his collar and yank him up to his feet.  Grizzly.

            “You fucking pussy,” Grizzly said.

            Sam was about to punch the grizzly man in the face, when someone grabbed his arms from behind, and bound Sam’s wrists together with a thin, hard wire.

            “Walk,” the grizzly man said.

            Sam felt the butt of a rifle pound into his back.  He began to march.

            From behind, Sam could hear Paul grunt as he was pulled to his feet.  Somebody shouted obscenities at the younger soldier.  Were they going to give the boy any medical attention?  Sam was doubtful.  Paul began to march behind Sam, but slower.  Occasionally the boy moaned in pain.

            Fresh anger swept through Sam.  If his hands were free, he would have gone down fighting.  He would have made sure he splattered the insides of Grizzly all over the hallway.  He would have attacked the rest of the troops until he either killed all of them or until they shot him like a rabid dog.  With an all consuming rage, Sam felt like he did not need a rifle to accomplish such an attack.  Sam would have been able to tear them apart with his bear hands.

            As if he sensed Sam’s murderous thoughts, the grizzly man swung the butt of the rifle into Sam’s gut with enough force to nock Sam to the ground.

            “Oops,” Grizzly said.

            The cultists around did not react, they only pulled Sam back up to his feet.

“Keep walking,” Grizzly said.

            Again, Sam said nothing.  The grizzly man wanted to get a reaction out of Sam.  He wanted to break Sam into a pile of mush.  The grizzly man had been unnerved by Sam’s act of insanity, so he needed to break Sam, in order to feel strong.  Sam did not plan on giving that bearded bastard the pleasure, so the only response Sam gave were scowls and silence.

            When the party reached the end of the hallway, the grizzly man and one other cultist climbed out of the window, onto a fire escape.  The soldiers behind Sam pushed him onward.   He bent down, so his head would not hit the top of the window frame, and climbed through.  Paul climbed out after Sam.

            “Try anything up here any you start losing limbs,” Grizzly said.  “You got that?”

            Sam said nothing.  He wasn’t ready to start trouble, just yet.  He could have very well pushed the grizzly man over the railing, but the other soldiers would have cut Sam down real quick.  That would leave Paul alone with them.  Any escape would have to wait until later.

            The grizzly man climbed down the fire escape first, followed by the other soldier in front.  With Sam’s secured behind his back, climbing down the fire escape was a real bitch.  On the way down, Paul grunted, moaned, and wheezed in agony.  The trip downward seemed to be taking forever, and the cultists did not offer a helping hand.  When Paul reached the ground, he collapsed.

            The grizzly man strode over to Paul, and yanked him up by his left arm.  Paul hollered out in pain.  When Paul was on his feet again, the grizzly man punched the boy in the gut.  Then he punched him again in the face.  Then he hit him again in the shoulder, pounding an agonized squeal out of the boy.

            This got a reaction from Sam.

            While the grizzly man continued to work Paul over, Sam strode up behind him.  Grizzly raised his fist in the air once again, and Sam kicked Grizzly in the rump.  The kick was solid and hard.  Hard enough to send Grizzly stumbling towards the brick wall of the building they all just left.  With a solid thud, the grizzly man’s face crashed into the wall.

            Sam began to move in to attack again, but something struck him from behind.  Sam stumbled forward a few steps, and turned around in time to see the butt of a rifle swing towards his face, like a bat being swung at a fastball.  Unfortunately, Sam did not have the time to duck.

            The rifle struck Sam in the face, on the opposite side from where he had been shot.  After the blow landed, Sam spun halfway around, and fell to the street, landing on his belly.  Sam grunted, and tried to react before another blow landed, but he was too slow.  The cultists around continued to pummel Sam until a voice shouted.

            “That’s enough!”

            It was the grizzly man.

            A figure stepped into Sam’s field of vision.  All he could see were the boots, but Sam knew perfectly well who it was.  The grizzly man walked out of Sam’s vision.

            “We want them alive,” the grizzly man said, then kicked, rolling Sam onto his back.  “Consider yourself lucky.   Now get up.  If you try anything like that again, I can show you a whole new world of pain.”

            As Sam pulled himself back to his feet, expecting a boot to fly into his chest, knocking him down and telling him to be careful, a pair of headlights swept around them.  Three military style jeeps stopped next to them.  All three vehicles were painted black, and had flaming skull decals on the hoods.

            The grizzly man raised his rifle at Sam, and said “Get in.”

*

            As soon as the bombs had exploded, Helen started the Mustang, and rocketed away from the compound at reckless speed.  They had only entered the surrounding developments around forty miles an hour, but now they were leaving at speeds in excess of one hundred miles an hour.  Without the aid of headlights, or street lights, the danger of a fatal car wreck increased dramatically.  Helen didn’t seem to care, and that worried the hell out of Jack.

            Before the attack, while they were scouting the base, Helen had seemed anxious but now she was petrified.  A wave of fear had hit her when the bombs exploded, and she had to get out of there as soon as possible.  Jack didn’t hold it against her.  He was scared too, and she had been through a lot.  But this…

            Throughout his life, Jack had seen horrors that would have been unimaginable only a quarter of a century before.  He had seen the dead come back to life.  Jack had witnessed good friends being torn limb from limb.  Jack had seen many of the undead come to very grisly ends.  Jack had almost been killed a few times.  Even a few times within the last two days.  Jack was there when his mother began suffering from cancer.  He had stayed with her when her condition deteriorated, and was there when she died.  Jack had been the one who had put her corpse down.  Jack saw one of his comrades lose his head on a regular food run.  Nothing was out of the ordinary until the young solder lost it, and was bitten by one of the undead.  Jack had bore witness to the aftermath of a brutal and merciless attack on another settlement of survivors, which left Sam shaking.  And Sam had nerves of cast iron.  Shortly after, Jack had been there when half of his comrades were slaughtered in the streets.  Jack has witnessed a lot of death, pain, and suffering in his life, but never before had he seen such raw terror as he saw in Helen.

            The girl shook violently as if the inside of the Mustang was as cold as an arctic ice storm.  Her breathing was heavy and panicked.  She didn’t seem to be minding the road nearly as much as she should have been, and kept checking the rear view mirror for hostiles.  In her state of mind, Helen should not have been driving.

            “Helen,” Jack said.  “I don’t think we’re being followed.”

            The girl ignored him for a minute.  Then without giving Jack any notice, Helen began to slow the Mustang’s pace.  They had been driving for the better part of a half an hour.  At over a hundred miles an hour, they were far enough away to slow down a bit.  They were also damn lucky they had not hit anything too big, or overheated the engine.

            “I think we’d better stop for a moment,” Jack said, fighting to stay calm.

            Helen cut the pace more, from eighty to forty, but she didn’t stop.

            “We’re not far enough away,” Helen said.  It sounded like she was fighting tears.

            “Are you alright?” Jack asked.

            “I’m fine,” Helen insisted.

            She didn’t seem fine.  She seemed like a mess of loose nerves ready to unwind.  Jack was suddenly glad that he could not make out the details in her face through the veil of night, because Jack was sure that he would not have been able to stand the look of pure terror that must be on her face.

            Jack put his hand on Helen’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.  Helen gave no reaction, but at least she didn’t try to push his hand away.  Last night, when Jack woke up, almost screaming from his nightmare, Helen had been there.  Jack could not remember the last time someone had been there to comfort him after one of his nightly bouts, at least not since his mother died.  The least Jack could do was return the favor.

            “Are you sure you’re okay?” was all Jack could think to say.

            “Yes, yes,” Helen insisted.

            Her voice broke up on the second yes.  The battle against tears must have been growing harder and harder by the minute.  Jack took his hand from Helen’s shoulder, and took his gaze from the girl.  Feeling helpless and ashamed, Jack leaned to the door, and rested his head against the window as he stared at the outside world, which was just as dead as it had been earlier that night.

            Instead of thinking about the last two days, Jack just let his mind drift.  His eyelids began to close, and the longer he rested his head against the window, the harder it was to keep his eyelids opened.  Until now, Jack did not realize how tired he was.  Jack gave in, and began to drift off.  Just as the world outside began to fade away, Jack was yanked back to the realm of consciousness.

            “I’m sorry,” Helen said.

            “What?”

            “I’m sorry I got you and your friends into this.  I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.”

            “You didn’t drag us into anything we weren’t knee deep in already.”

            “But…”

            “No buts, if you hadn’t shown up, we’d all be dead right now.”

            Helen said nothing else, but began to slow the Mustang.  They had wandered into a less populated area with fewer places for the flesh eaters to hide.  The Mustang was approaching a park.  As it got closer, the car’s speed declined more and more, until they were down to twenty miles an hour.  When they reached the turnoff, Helen changed course, and entered the park.

            “Where are we going?” Jack asked.

            “This area should be pretty safe.  I’ve been hiding here for the past couple of days.”

            “So you don’t think they’ll look here?”

            “Not while we’re still around, no.”

            Jack looked up, and saw a dense layer of trees on each side of the road.  They had grown almost out of control, and it was amazing that none of them had toppled over, blocking the road.  Jack and Helen passed one clearing, which used to be a small parking lot and restrooms.  There was also a small picnic table and a nature trail.  Now, weeds and grass had grown out of control, and the asphalt parking lot was hardly visible, and the trail had been overtaken by weeds.

            Helen kept driving.

            A couple of minutes later, they approached another clearing, which looked almost identical to the last.  There, Helen cut the Mustang’s speed again, and pulled off of the road.

            “We can hide the car in the brush, and get some rest here,” Helen said.  “That trail leads to a river.  I wouldn’t use the bathrooms.”

            Jack nodded.

            Moving no more than five miles an hour, Helen eased the Mustang onto a small dirt path.  As they moved under the trees, the moonlight seemed to die.  The world around them was pitch-black.  Helen seemed to see everything ahead, perfectly, and Jack wondered what kind of night vision she had.  The ride was rough, and if the car was moving any faster, it would have been murder on both the Mustang, and Jack.

            The bumpy ride lasted for about another minute before Helen stopped the car.

            “Here it is,” she said.  “The river is just on the other side of that brush.”

*

            It was the irony of his life.  Late in his other life, Sam’s profession had been putting criminals behind bars.  He had spent his entire life on the other side of the bars until the world had changed.  Often times, the fortress Sam called home felt like a prison.  The inmates were stuck inside, wardened by ravenous flesh eating monsters.  The inmates were able to escape for food, and other supplies, but anything over forty miles away may as well have been on the other side of an ocean.  Now, it had come full circle.  No longer a metaphor; Sam really was on the other side of the bars.

            Sam did not find himself laughing at the irony.  Instead, he looked around at his cell.  The building was a run down hotel, which was over fifteen stories high.  Like all the other inhabited buildings, the stairwells on the bottom floor had been blasted away to make entry a lot tougher.  The fire escape outside of Sam’s cell had been torn away, either by years of decay, or by a construction crew, who wanted to make the building escape proof.  In any case, the fire escape would not have done Sam much good, because his window was protected by steal bars, just like his doorway.  Even if the windows were not barred shut, the cell was probably ten stories high.  All Sam could do with an open window was plunge to his death.

            Even without the bars, escape would be next to impossible with bound hands and no weapons.  Throw Paul’s injury into the equation, and both soldiers were stuck inside like roaches.  Another irony which did not amuse Sam.

            Paul was in the doorless bathroom, which was stripped of everything but a sink and toilet.  As soon as they were thrown into the cell, Sam looked at Paul’s wounds.  The wound on Paul’s leg was not too bad.  The bullet went clean through, but the other shell was still lodged in Paul’s shoulder.  Without any medical treatment, both wounds would likely become infected.

            Even more worrisome was the loss of blood.  Neither wound had been bandaged or sutured.  The bastards had just let Paul bleed.  Now, the boy was weak and pail from the blood loss.

            Sam wondered how long the boy could live under these conditions.

            “Don’t worry,” Sam said.  “Jack and Helen are still out there.  They’ll get us out of here.  Jack can handle himself pretty well.  I’ve seen him get out of some real sticky situations.  The girl.  I think I was wrong about her when we first met.  The girl’s got a toughness.  They’ll get us out of here.”

            “They might be a little late for me,” Paul said, “but I’ll pray for you.  All of you.”

            Sam had no response for the boy.  Paul did not sound afraid, but a little regretful.  It seemed as though the boy was ready to die.  He had accepted his own mortality, with unshaken faith that Sam would get out of this.  If only I could have a bit of that, Sam thought.

            “God would not let a man like this claim the Earth as his playground,” Paul said.

            “He’s been doing it for the last twenty-two years,” Sam said, hoping Paul would have an answer for him, “and who knows what he’s done before…”

            Instead of refuting the implications of what Sam had said, Paul only shrugged, and said: “We shall see.”

            Down the hall, Sam could hear several footfalls, as death approached.  He was sure that the visitors weren’t the grizzly man, whose name Sam learned was Randal Lennux.  This time, it would be Calhoun, and what ever guards never left his side.  Maybe an interrogator would accompany them.  They would try to entice Sam into spilling whatever information he had with the promise of death.  If either Sam or Paul did divulge the secrets, the torture would probably continue.  After what both prisoners had witnessed in the dormitory ballroom, Sam had no doubt.

            The funny thing was that there was no fear in Paul’s face.

            Three man shaped shadows appeared in the doorway, and the footfalls stopped.  As they approached, Sam could see that all three of the visitors were cloaked.  Two additional cultists stayed outside in the hallway.  Of the three who entered the room, Sam figured the one in the middle was Calhoun.  Unlike the others, Calhoun’s head was not hooded and his outfit was white.  The color the others wore still blended with the darkness.

            Calhoun said something in a low voice, and the cloaked soldier on his right moved towards the doorway.  Three small electric lamps shined dimly in the room from their corners.

            Now Sam could se the color of the two other cultist’s uniforms: crimson, like blood.  They were each armed with a military grade M-16, and Sam could see a handle protruding from the belt line of the soldier to the left.  It looked like he was armed with a katana.  Below the cloaks, the blood troops’ uniforms were the same red.  The only differences in the uniform’s color were the black trim, black belts, black boots, black gloves, and black scarves.  The blood soldier on the right had covered his face from the nose down with the scarf.  The blood soldier on the left wore his down, below the neck, but Sam could not see any features of the blood man’s face because the lamp light was blocked by the hood.  Sam would not be surprised if, under the hoods, the blood soldiers looked had demonic forms rather than human.

            Calhoun himself was nothing spectacular.  Unlike his blood troops, the messiah appeared to be unarmed, and wore a white robe, with white pants and shirt to match.  His hair was gray, and pulled back into a pony tail.  His face was clean shaven, with not a hint of stubble.  Sam guessed the messiah was around fifty or fifty-five years old.  There were a few wrinkles on Calhoun’s face, but he did not look ruthless.  His eyes had a generic look and did not seem at all icy or hard, but they did not appear warm or soft either.  They only reflected a sociopathic apathy.  Everyone around was a tool for his use, because Calhoun was a greater being.  He had to be one hell of a manipulator with charm and charisma oozing out of his pores.  Sam had run into the type before.

            Calhoun spoke: “I hear you caused some trouble earlier, my child.”

            Sam didn’t quite know how to respond.  If his hands were not bound behind his back, and if there were no bars between him and the gray haired messiah, Sam would have lunged for him.  Sam wanted to shout back at Calhoun: “I am not your fucking son!” but the situation called for a more subtle approach.  He did not want to set Calhoun off, nor give the messiah the satisfaction of seeing his enemy loose control.

            “It seems we did,” Sam said.

            “Well, you’ve both sinned, but God is forgiving, as we all should be,” Calhoun said.  “As you may already know, my children, I am God’s messenger, and son.  I have been sent forth to spread my word to anyone who will listen, and eliminate the wicked so they may be judged by the almighty himself.  Last night you murdered twelve of my holy crusaders.  Tonight you attacked our home, our sacred temple.  But God and I are forgiving, so you get one chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of God.”

            “You’re mad,” Paul said.

            Sam wanted to urge the boy to pipe down, but he knew it was useless.

            “That’s blasphemy!” the boy continued.  “You’re no more messiah than your followers.”

            “You will still your mouth boy,” Calhoun said, “or the consequences will be dire.”

            The indifferent expression on the messiah’s face cracked, showing rage for a split second.  He didn’t like having his faith or his divinity questioned.

            “As I was saying, you have one chance to redeem yourself in God’s eyes, provided you embrace his love,” Calhoun said.  “You have friends out there.  We know there is a Judas in our midst, and she will be dealt with, but you have a chance at salvation.  All you have to do is tell us where your other friends are, so they can be saved, and the Judas may become an example to the others of what happens when you spit in the face of God.”

            “How dare you speak for God?  You know nothing of God’s message,” Paul said.

            “Silence!” Calhoun shouted.

            “I will not be silenced by a phony messiah.  You rule nothing but lies.  God’s message is one of love and unity, not genocide.  You are an agent of Lucifer!”

            Calhoun swallowed, and gulped air.  His face contorted and cracked with lines of rage.  He looked as if he were about to change shapes into something winged with horns and a tail.

            After a moment, Calhoun regained his composure, and in a flat voice said: “If you know so much of God’s word, you are fit to suffer the same fate as your lord.”  He turned to the guards.  “Take him.”

            A smug grin crept onto Calhoun’s face, and his eyes had chilled to an icy temperature.  The messiah of lies now looked almost lizard like.  Sam wondered if Calhoun’s tong would stretch out of his mouth, and lash Paul for his rebellion.

            The two blood soldiers stepped forward.  The masked soldier on the right aimed his M-16 between Sam and Paul, waiting for either to make a move.  The soldier on the left pulled a key ring from his belt, and made his way to the bars.

            For the first time, Sam could see the blood soldier’s face.  Under the hood, the blood man’s hair looked as black as shale, and not quite curly.  The blood man looked like he was around thirty years old, with a clean shaven face.  In the world before this one, the blood man would have attracted quite a few ladies.  But now, his face was forever marred by a jagged scar that stretched from the middle of his forehead to the right side of his chin, and arced through the right side of his face, leaving the right eye white from the damage.

            The man with the scar grinned as he opened the gate.  It was the grin of a starving man staring down a cheese burger.  Hungry anticipation.

            As the gate swung open Sam positioned himself between Paul and the door.  God damn it! Sam thought.  They had already taken the rest of the troops under Sam’s command, save for Jack, who they would likely kill tomorrow.  They had slaughtered the scientists who created a cure for this plague, and for all Sam knew, the bastards had destroyed the cure too.  The whole fucking reason they had come out here in the first place.  They intended to kill Helen when they found her.  But Sam was going to be damned if the murdering bastards got their hands on Paul.  They were going to have to kill Sam first.

            When the scar finished sliding the cell door open, and stepped through, Sam charged, intending to ram Scar’s nose in with his skull.  Instead, the blood soldier’s fist met Sam’s face.

            The blow did not quite knock Sam off of his feet.  He tried to regain balance so he could kick the blood soldier.  Again, the scar was faster, kicking Sam in the gut.  Mr. Scar then raised the butt of his rifle, and clubbed Sam in the ribs.  Sam felt something strike his back, and he went down.  Scar put his foot on Sam’s back, and dug in when Sam tried to move, effectively holding Sam down.

            At the other side of the cell, Paul went with the other blood soldier without any resistance.  The boy was too weak to hold his own weight, so the blood soldiers had to hold him up.  As the boy was led out of the cell, Sam shouted “You mother fucker’s can’t have him!”  To hell with keeping his cool.  Sam continued the protest, “I’ll kill all of you for this!”

            He tried to move out from under the scar’s boot, but a rifle but thumped him in the head.  Feeling utterly helpless, Sam gave up his struggle, and watched Paul walk out of the room to his death.

*

            The world seemed empty, void of hope, joy, and purpose.  Only misery and failure remained.  In the end, that was all Sam’s life had amounted to.  He had only signed on to protect Jack.  Now, the only surviving member of Sam’s team was out of his reach.  He failed Jack’s parents.  He failed his unit, for it was his mission to keep them alive.  He had just failed Paul, and in turn failed Gerard, who had given up a shot at life so Paul could survive.  Paul got away from the undead alright.  The boy got away only to be crucified the next night.  Now, Sam’s hands were bound behind, and his rage was held back by steel bars.  Now, even revenge was out of his grasp.

            For an eternity, since the blood troops escorted Paul away to a painful execution, Sam had been sitting in the corner farthest from the bars, staring at the floor, torturing himself.  Giving himself the hell he deserved.  Why did I lead my troops into an ambush?  Why? Sam thought.  He wondered why he didn’t just let Hunter lead the team.  Sam might not have liked the man, but Hunter was an excellent soldier, and strong leader.  Hunter could keep his head clear under fire.  Sam resented the officer for not demanding the position.

            But the superiors wanted Sam to lead the mission.  Why?  Because they had a misplaced faith in Sam’s abilities and they did not know what was ahead.  The folks at home had no idea what danger they were in.  They had to be warned.

            Come on Jack, Helen, stop this mad quest.  To hell with the assassination.  To hell with a rescue.  There’s nobody alive worth saving here.  Go home and warn the others.  They’ll know what to do.  Go home.

            Sam continued his inner monologue, as though he could send a telepathic message.

            Telepathy, that’s rich.

            Sam wondered if this whole mad adventure had been a horrible nightmare.  He wondered if he would wake up any second, in his bed, at home.  Paul, Zach, Gerard, Mike, Peter, and Tom would still be alive.  Even better, maybe Sam would wake up and the last twenty-two years would have been a nightmare.  Sam couldn’t think of anything he wanted more.

            Well, there was one thing Sam could think of.  He wanted to go to the town pub, and have a drink with Rob.  True, if the last twenty-two years had never happened, Sam would not have met a lot of good people.  But all the death.  And what people had to do to survive.  Sam would give anything to make it all go away.

            In the end, Sam supposed he was just going to have to live with the world and his past.  The problem (and Sam guessed the silver lining too) was that Sam didn’t know how much longer he would have to live with the burden.

            Next would come the torture, and Sam couldn’t afford to fail again.

            Bring it on, you sons of bitches.  Give me your worst, and I’ll laugh in your face.

*

            A crucifixion!  A god damn, fucking crucifixion, after he had spent so much damn time and resources, to bring the two bastards in alive.  All because the messiah of nothing lost his temper.  Lennux knew the boy knew nothing his commander didn’t, but maybe they could have used him as leverage to open the psycho fuck’s mouth.  Now they had lost the chance, but that was not the bitch of it.

            Lennux had almost gotten his ass blown to kibbles bringing those two rats in.  The least of his reward should have been the satisfaction of killing them.  The messiah had taken away that chance at satisfaction.  Now, Lennux would only have to settle for one.  He would handle to torture of forty-two year old Lt. Samuel Paterson.  Lennux would stand over the psycho, and look into his eyes as Paterson broke.

            Lennux looked on at the boy on the crucifix.  If Lennux could not kill the heretic, he wanted watch him squirm.  The boy had been hanging in a giant T for over an hour, and had not once screamed out in pain, save for when the nails were driven through his hands and feet.  Now, he was silent.  The boy hardly moved, but he was still alive.  His breathing had been fast earlier, but was now almost normal.  Before he had been crucified, the boy had lost a lot of blood.  He’d be dead in under an hour.

            What a grand night it was, and what a grand day it had been had been.  After his commander had conveniently gotten himself killed, Lennux had won a contest with death.  He had the psycho heathen commander in his grasp, and was about to break him.  He would soon get his hands on the Judas bitch, and he would have another chance at her before cutting her throat.  Lennux could almost smell her.  After this situation with the heretics and the Judas bitch was worked out, Lennux would claim his rightful state of godhood.  Not much longer, and his reign would begin.

            Lennux would have loved to stand there and watch the boy die.  Even more, he would have loved to be out, looking for the Judas bitch and any other surviving soldiers, like he should have been.  But the messiah wanted them here.  Now he had pressing business.

             Lennux turned to the guard next to him, and said, “Tell me how long the little shit lasts.  I have to take care of some business.”

            “Aye sir.”

            Lennux turned his back from the spectacle, and walked away from the compound boarder.

            A mosquito buzzed by his ear, and landed on the back of Lennux’s neck.  He swatted at the pest, and looked at his palm for evidence of the kill.  There was a black blotch, under his index and middle knuckles, where the insect had been crushed.  Lennux grinned in celebration.  He had ended another measly life.  How many would he take in his godhood?  Only the new god would know.

            Lennux’s jubilance was shattered when he walked past the empty building, next to the messiah’s tower.  With a rage growing in his stomach, and spreading through his legs, chest, and arms, leaking through his lungs, and through his throat, Lennux snarled at the condemned building like a rabid dog.  As soon as he became God, striking that building down would be his first action.  Unlike the current messiah, Lennux was not a fool.  Lennux intended to delay his death and resurrection as long as possible.  He did not want to risk life and limb to become God only to be shot down by some sewer rat.

            Not for the first time, another thought seeded in his mind.  Its corrosive roots infested his brain and dug their way down his spine, crept into his lungs, and out of his mouth in the form of a heavy sigh.  The rats would strike tomorrow.  They were going to use that damn abandoned building, and that fucking bastard messiah was not going to do a damn thing to prevent the assassination.  After all Lennux’s preparation, planning, and patience, Godhood might not be in his reach.  If the messiah was killed prematurely, Lennux would be stuck as a mortal puppet for the rest of his life.

            First thing in the morning, Lennux would have soldiers swarming that building like fucking bees in a hive.  Nobody was going to stop Lennux, not now.  Not when he could taste the blood of the messiah flooding Lennux’s mouth and gushing down his throat.  Not when he could hear the death screams of the suicidal fool.  Not when he could feel the ultimate power at his finger tips.  If the bastards intended to stop the great Randal Lennux, they were going to have to kill him.

            And Lennux did not intend to allow that to happen.

*

            Ten stories above the street, Lennux met three guards at the gate.  The lap dogs were all wearing the standard black uniforms.  All three were around the same height, standing a few inches shorter than Lennux.  They all seemed scrawny next to the future god’s muscular physique.

            “We’re moving the prisoner,” Lennux informed the guards.  “We need to squeeze some information out of him, and we don’t have much time.”

            “Aye sire,” The guard in the middle said, and made his way to the cell.

            Lennux and the two other guards followed.

            When they entered the room, the prisoner continued to sit in his corner, as if nobody was there.

            “Up,” Lennux said.

            The prisoner continued to stare at the wall, as if none had spoken.

            “Hey, get up.  It’s time you answer some questions.”

            The prisoner gave Lennux no mind.  Had he gone catatonic or did the psycho have some ace up his sleeve?

            “You can either walk with us, or we can drag you.  Either way you’re coming with us.”

            The prisoner said nothing, nor did he move.

            “Alright, drag him out.”

            On his order, the guard closest to the gate, unlocked the cell and swung the steel bars open.  The other two stepped through.  The prisoner did not move.

            “Up,” one of the guards said.

            When the prisoner did not move, the guard kicked, landing his foot firmly in the dissident’s ribs.  The prisoner winced in pain, and teetered to the right, then he corrected his position, and stayed on the floor.  The whole time the prisoner’s gaze remained on the wall.  One of the guards stepped in front of the prisoner, but his gaze stayed the same, as if he was staring through the guard.  Not only through the guard, but through the wall, maybe out of the building itself.

            The guard in front of the prisoner shook his head, and the other guard stepped behind the prisoner.  He stooped down, and grabbed the dissident’s wrists, and yanked.  That got the prisoner to his feet.

*

            The leather straps were painfully tight, and dug into Sam’s wrists, drawing a trickle of blood.  As soon as Sam had entered the room, the guards freed his hands only to bind them each to an arm of a strong wooden chair, which reminded Sam of Old Sparkie.  The leather straps binding his ankles to the chair were worse.  Sam knew that before long, he would not notice the tight restraints, because there would be a lot more pain.

            Before sitting him in the chair, the guards had stripped Sam of his boots and shirt, leaving him with bare feet, and naked from the waist up.  Sam wondered what kind of torture Lennux had in store.  Electrocution maybe?  Sam was strapped to a chair, sitting down, instead of strapped in a door frame, hanging.

            Sam wanted to look around the room to get a feel for his surroundings, but he wanted to keep up the catatonic act for as long as possible.  Besides, how much good would seeing the room do anyway.  By the time he had a chance to stand, Sam would be in no shape to execute any plan of escape, or kamikaze attack.  Aside from being trapped in the chair, the room was pitch-black save for an electric lamp directly in front of Sam, which cast light downward, into a circle on the floor.

            Sam supposed it was better not to think.  He would not think of any way to get out of his torture, and thinking about what was going to happen shortly would work his nerves into even more of a frenzy.

            A floor board squeaked a foot or two to Sam’s right, and was followed by a light metallic clang, and another.  Someone was shuffling through some metal instruments, and if Sam’s hands were not bound to the chair, he would be able to reach out and touch the man who was about to become his tormentor.

            Sam wondered what kind of instruments were at the interrogator’s disposal.  He probably had medical equipment, a lot of which could be used for the dual purposes of healing and causing pain.  Scalpels could do a number on him.  Syringes could be used to either administer pain killers, or any number of serums that weren’t meant for his well being.  He had heard about truth formulas, and he hoped to God that these psychopaths were not that sophisticated in their methods.  Sam supposed there was a reason Helen had not divulged the details of her attack to Sam, Paul, and Zach before leaving.  If any of them were tortured, the poor soul might leak some intelligence which could kill Helen and Jack before they achieved their goal.

            Better not think about it.

            Sam continued to stare at the illuminated circle on the wooden floor. The light shined about three feet around, and reached Sam’s feet.  The steady trickle of blood from his wrist had run onto his pants, and made its way to the floor, where there was now a growing red spot.  Under the blood, the floor was unclean, and had been that way for twenty-two years.  The inch of dust would probably still be there until either the end of time, or until the building collapsed under it’s own weight from extensive water damage, settling, and what ever else ailed old abandoned buildings.

            Ka-plunk.

            Sam thought he heard the drops of blood hitting the floor.

            Ka-plunk.

            Easy Sam, it’s all in your head.

            Ka-plunk, Ka-plunk.

            What’s taking him so long, shouldn’t he be sticking needles in me?

            Sam wanted to scream out.  He wanted to order the cultists to hurry up, and get the torture over with.  But he dared not.  All he could do was keep up his catatonic act.  It took all of his energy, but Sam didn’t have a better plan.

            The floor boards creaked again, one after another, but this time, it was not the inquisitioner shifting his weight.  He was moving towards Sam’s position.  Less than a second later, a grizzly form emerged in the light.  Sam could not make out the details, but he knew instantly that it was none other than Randal Lennux: number one on Sam’s ever growing list of names and faces of those he intended to kill before he left.

            “I’m going to ask you some questions,” Lennux said.  “If you answer them right away, and be straight with me, this can be quite painless.”

            Right.

            Lennux’s words were friendly enough, but there was something in the grizzly man’s voice, something chilling.  It was a giddy anticipation and impatience.  Lennux wanted to get on with the torture.  Sam was glad he couldn’t see into the grizzly man’s eyes.

            “Now,” Lennux tapped something, making a clank.  Metal on metal.  “When do your friends plan to strike?”

            Sam said nothing.

            “I bet you’re wondering what I have in my hands.  If you answer the questions, you won’t find out.  Don’t make me show you what it is.  Now I’m going to ask you one more time.  This is your final warning.  After this, I will be forced to hurt you, and I don’t want to do that.  I’m a nice guy.  I don’t like hurting people, but sometimes they leave me no other choice.  You don’t want to force me to hurt you.  Don’t make me be mean.  Don’t bring this on yourself.”

            Sam knew all of it was a bold face lie, save for the impending pain.

            Lennux’s eyes narrowed.

            “When are your friends planning to attack?”

            Again, Sam stayed silent.

            “I won’t enjoy this,” Lennux said.

            The grizzly man’s hands fumbled with a rectangular object.  Lennux’s hands seemed to be shaking with a gleeful anxiety, like a teenage boy about to lose his virginity.

            I have a feeling I won’t enjoy this, Sam thought, suddenly glad Zach had a relatively merciful end, and Paul’s agony would not last much longer, if he was even still alive.

            Lennux, finally opened a lid, and drew something out.  Finished with the box, he made his way back to the table or tray to Sam’s right, and there was a small thud, as Lennux set the box down.  The grizzly inquisitioner then made his way back into the light, nice and slow.  Lennux seemed to be savoring the moment, hoping to catch the fear in Sam’s eyes before he struck.

            Is this his idea of foreplay?

            Lennux held his right hand up, into the light.  There was a thin object resting between Lennux’s forefinger and thumb.  It stood erect in his hand, small and thin, with a sparkle of light moving from the butt of the object to the point.  It was a sewing needle.

            Still moving slowly, still savoring every moment, Lennux moved towards Sam.  The interrogator reached out with his left hand, the paused for a moment.  Lennux then curled his left hand into a fist, and slammed it down on Sam’s right hand, flattening his palm.  The blow was hard enough to sting like hell, but it didn’t do much damage.  Sam remained in his catatonic farce, though he knew it would only last a few more seconds.

            Lennux loosened his left hand, and eased out of the fist.  He then reached down, and grabbed Sam’s middle finger.  A grin crept on to Lennux’s face, and Sam could almost see the yellow on the grizzly man’s teeth.  With Sam’s middle finger firmly in Lennux’s grasp, the grizzly man yanked upward, hard.  Sam heard a crack, but his finger did not break.  That was not what had worried him.

            Lennux’s grin grew, and he moved his right had toward Sam’s middle finger, but this motion was not slow.  This was fast and with purpose.  This is what worried Sam.  He wanted to close his eyes, but was powerless.  All he could do was watch.

            The tip of the needle struck the flesh under Sam’s finger nail, with excruciating force.  Sam’s silence broke, with the loudest scream Sam had ever allowed to escape his lungs.  His finger tingled a bit, around the tip, but then throbbed.  A sharp pain raced through the nerves of Sam’s finger, into his hand, spread to his other fingers, through his arm, and into his chest.

            After his scream ended, Sam’s breathing was fast.  He thought he might hyperventilate, and die.  There was no such luck.  Maybe Sam would fall dead from a massive heart attack later on.

            For the time being, Sam was starting to adjust to the new level of pain.  It still hurt like hell.  Sam was still gasping.  The throbbing still went into Sam’s chest, but he thought he could handle it.  But he also knew that this was only the beginning.

            “There is one way you can end this, tell us when the attack will be.  We’ll even give you something for the pain.”

            As he spoke, Lennux twisted the needle, still imbedded in Sam’s finger back and forth.  Slowly, Lennux began to wiggle the needle.  The grizzly man was getting a lot of pleasure from the interrogation.

            All Sam could do was throw his head back and scream as new waves of pain shot through his arm, and into his chest, and this time as far as his skull.  When Sam’s scream died, Lennux stopped moving the needle, and looked into Sam’s eyes.

            “All you have to do is tell me what I want to know, and I’ll pull the needle out.”

            Sam continued to pant and gasp.

            “Very well.”

            Lennux yanked the needle out, and Sam screamed again.

            The pain was not as excruciating as it had been a moment ago, but Sam knew he was about to feel a lot worse in less than a second.

            Lennux only pulled the needle an inch or two away from Sam’s finger.  The grizzly man then looked at Sam for a moment, expecting him to either beg for mercy or divulge some secrets.  Sam did neither.

            With an expression that was ambivalently torn between satisfaction and frustration, Lennux jabbed the needle into Sam’s finger again, in the same place it had landed before.  This time, before Sam could cry out, Lennux yanked the needle out, and jabbed it back into the finger.  By the time a pathetic whimper came out of Sam’s mouth, the needle had been jammed under Sam’s finger nail and pulled out four times.  Lennux showed no sign of stopping.  As he continued to jab the needle into Sam’s finger, he missed twice, jabbing Sam’s finger tip.

            As Lennux stabbed Sam, he was continually repeating the question, “When is the attack?” over and over again, but he did not expect, nor want an answer.  The question was more of a taunt.  Almost like he was saying, “talk and talk all you like, but I can’t hear you!”  The grin on Lennux’s face had grown even more, and now his yellow teeth were clearly visible.  Between each reciting of the question, Lennux giggled madly.

            Finally, Lennux yanked the needle out harder than any time before, and thrust it back under Sam’s finger nail, so deep that the point struck bone.  This time Sam didn’t scream.  He felt too weak, and all of his energy was now being use so he could fight back tears.  Sam had no idea how long that would last.

            Having abandoned the needle that was stuck in Sam’s finger, Lennux moved back to the metal box, and retrieved another needle.  The grizzly man moved back into the light, but skipped the theatrics this time.

            “You know I don’t enjoy this.  Just tell me when the attack will be.”

            The only noise Sam made was his heavy panting.

            Without another word, Lennux yanked Sam’s ring finger upward, and jabbed the needle under Sam’s finger nail.  Sam screamed again, and this time, he lost the battle with his tears.

            Randal Lennux leaned close to Sam, and said, “We’re going to have a fun night.”

*

            The crickets chirped and the night was peaceful.  The light from the moon and the stars barely penetrated the canopy of treetops above.  Near by, the river flowed as it had twenty-two years ago, and even before.  The tree branches rustled gently in the night breeze.  The serenity of the night was a nice contrast to the reality of the world, and was possibly close to what a night in the world before the dead began to walk would have been like.  Perhaps that was why Helen liked to come here.  Perhaps this was why she had always sought out places like this, even before her world turned up side down.

            She and Jack were out in the open.  Vulnerable if more that a few ghouls approached, but the undead never came here.  At least Helen had never encountered any here.  The park was a sanctuary from the troubles and dangers of this life.  It was a place Helen could go to forget.

            It was a place where Helen could feel guilt.  Since she had been inducted into the genocidal cult, Helen had played a role in the destruction of several settlements, ranging from hundreds of people to a family of four, sheltered in a cabin in the woods.  She had murdered people, and all out of fear.  Fear for herself.  She had killed others so she could continue to exist, and now she thought she could take no more.  Helen thought she could stand up, and fight the evil.

            Now, Helen was just as much of a chicken shit as ever.  She had sent three men to their deaths, so she could retreat, and continue running away from her demons, instead of making her stand and fighting.  Her father hadn’t run before he was murdered.  No, he refused to convert.  He refused to break.  He did not run from the cultists when they attacked.  Her father stood and fought.

            Helen wished she could believe her father was there with her, watching over his little girl, but over the last eleven years, Helen found it impossible to believe that there was anything past this life.  She found the concept of a god frightening at times.  What if there was an all powerful god and he really was on the side of Calhoun?  If that was the case, then this whole battle would be for nothing.  No matter what, that murdering bastard would win.  If Helen continued to indulge in such thoughts, she would never be able to sleep again, but she couldn’t help herself.

            More than anything, she hoped she was wrong about the fates of Sam, Paul, and even Zach.  They all seemed like good people; especially compared to the murderers Helen had lived among since she was seven.

            Maybe they’re okay.  Maybe they’re on their way home right now to warn their friends.

            Helen found the idea hard to believe.

            Beside her, Jack stirred in his sleep.  He was probably having another nightmare.  The poor boy said he’d been having the dreams every night since he was little.  She wished she could make the demons go away.  She wished she could get inside of Jack’s head, and hold his hand through whatever hell he was going through.  But she was helpless, as she had felt much of her life.

            Helen reached over, and rolled the driver side window of the Mustang down a few more inches.  She had never much liked sleeping in a car, but it was better than sleeping out in the open, where a rotting hand could grab her and an undead maw could bite into her before she could open her eyes.

            It was funny how Helen had lived with the zombies here entire life, how she had lived with worse for more that half of her life, yet she was still terrified by the thought of the undead sinking their teeth into her flesh.  She supposed such a fear was healthy in this world.

            Jack groaned, and Helen gently put a hand on his shoulder.

            “It’s okay,” she whispered.

            The boy didn’t calm down.

            Suddenly, Jack lurched forward, and began gasping.  Helen reflexively pulled her hand away, and found herself afraid that Jack would hit his head on the dash board.  He didn’t.  Instead, Jack said “mom,” and began looking around, confused.

            “It’s okay, you were having another nightmare,” Helen said.

            “Oh,” Jack put his palms over his eyes, and rubbed up and down, and groaned.

            “It sounded bad.”

            “Yeah, but I can’t remember too much of it.  I guess that’s a good thing.”

            “Yeah.”

            Helen put her hand back on Jack’s shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze.  She then rubbed the boy’s shoulder, lightly massaging.

            “Are you okay?” she asked.

            “Yeah,” Jack looked into Helen’s eyes.  She bit her lip ever so lightly.  “Do you think they got out okay?”

            “I do.  I think they’re probably half way home by now.”

            Jack seemed to catch what Helen really though, and dreaded, which reflected in the boy’s voice when he said: “Me too.”

            “I’m sorry I lost it,” Helen said, before she could stop herself.

            “You didn’t lose it.”

            “Yes I did.”  Helen looked down, breaking eye contact.  She removed her hand from Jack’s shoulder, and put both hands in her lap.  “Listen, there’s a few things I’ve never told you, or anyone.  When they first took me, they killed my parents.”

            “I know.”  This time, Jack put his hand on Helen’s shoulder.

            “I didn’t tell you the whole story.”  Helen took in a deep breath.  “They killed my parents in front of me.  We were living in a small settlement in the mountains -- I can’t even remember the state.  There were only about a hundred and fifty of us.  My dad was sort of a spiritual leader.  We had no official clergy members, but before this mess, he had been a regular church goer.  He read his bible every night, and preached the good words.  Daddy did a good job and, he was nothing like our messiah.  He helped around whenever he could, and he really boosted morale.  There was something about my dad.  When daddy said things would get better, that they would be alright, you believed him.”  Helen took a deep breath, and Jack nodded.  “Mom was much the same way, but she was a nurse.”  Helen paused again, not wanting to tell the next part of the story, hoping that if she neglected to tell it, she could erase it from history.  But she knew it was of no use, and maybe it was time to tell someone.  If she had ever found someone she could confide in, it was now.  “When I turned seven, the party was great.  All the kids were there.  We were a close community, a nice little neighborhood.  Everyone knew each other.  I had a blast.”  Helen found her choice of words puzzling.  She hadn’t said “I had a blast” since just after her birthday party ended.  “The celebration went on all night, and everyone got involved.  We were always looking for an excuse to celebrate.  It was just our way.  You can’t change what’s happened to the world so you might as well make the best of it, you know.  We had been given an opportunity that many others hadn’t.  We were still alive, but not only that, we didn’t have all of the problems of the society before.  There was no crime, war, poverty.  We all had the common goal of survival.  It drew us together, and we lived every moment like it was our last.”  Helen sighed.  “I lived by that philosophy until the night after my birthday party.”

            Helen’s throat tightened.

            “Helen, if you don’t want to say any more, you don’t have to.”

            “I’m okay.”  She took a deep breath.  “That night, they took us by surprise.  They knew the exact moment we would be vulnerable.  They knew our guard was down after years of solitude.  We never imagined that if we met other people they’d want to kill us.”  Helen took another deep breath.  “That night, two of our watch towers exploded.  The men ran out with their guns to see what was the matter.  The women went into a building with the children.  We hid in the main building in the center of the compound.  We just thought a generator exploded or something, we had no idea…”

            Helen took a moment to fight back tears.  Jack stayed silent.

            “There were more explosions, and then we heard gunfire.  I remember being so scared, and mom holding me, telling me it was going to be okay.  This time, I didn’t believe her.  The mothers in the room were talking, whispering, and singing to their children.  There was a lot of crying.  We didn’t know what in the hell was going on.  It didn’t last very long.  In ten minutes it was almost silent outside.  Seventy armed men, and they didn’t last ten minutes.  Most of them had been gunned down.  A few others, including dad had been captured so they could be tortured and murdered later.  It only took them about two more minutes to find the rest of us.”

            Jack massaged Helen’s shoulder.

            “If you don’t feel up to it, you don’t have to continue.”

            “No, I have to.  We heard shouting outside, but we couldn’t understand what they were saying.  None of the voices were familiar.  A couple of seconds later, the door flew off of its hinges, and men with guns stormed into the room.  They opened fire on us, killing a lot of the older women.  The younger women, they took so they could torture, rape, and murder later.  They took my mother.  They grabbed all of the children so they could convert them into killers.  All of the children who did not bend to their will were slaughtered.  That’s why I conformed.  They rounded us up, all of the survivors except for the children under three, and put us in one room.  They moved the younger children and infants to a nursery.  There were about twenty of us.  There had been a hundred and fifty of us only a few hours before, but then twenty of us there in a room.  The rest were either dead, or in a nursery, to be converted.  No longer one of us.”  Helen felt the fear and sadness go away, as rage crept into her voice.  “There were four men, including my dad, ten children, including me, aging from five to fourteen.  The rest were women, including mom.  The three of us sat there, huddled together, watching as they took our friends and neighbors out.  None of them returned.  They converted the younger children.  The older ones were disposed of.  Finally, after a day, they got to me mommy, and daddy.  They knew we were a family, so they took us together.  I remember dad saying ‘we’re together.  As long as we stay together, there’s no need for us to be afraid.’  Oh I wish he’d been right, but evil was much stronger that day.”

            The sadness had crept back into Helen’s voice.

            “Calhoun himself met us.  He was there with his elite guards, and a few men in black hoods.  The messiah said some words to dad.  Dad said some words back, about how Calhoun knew nothing of God’s word, and they started arguing.  Calhoun was pretty angry, and he knew how to hurt my daddy.  We were all chained there on the floor, and couldn’t move.  He took my mom, and began cutting her up.  He ordered one of the men in a black hood to rape her, right in front of us.  The hooded man gladly followed the order.”  Jack gasped.  “When the deed was done, Calhoun told my dad to renounce his faith, and bow down to the messiah, or he would kill mom.  Mom told daddy not to do it.  She told him no, so my daddy, he started quoting scripture, and told the messiah that he would not bow down to the wicked, and that God had a special place for us.  Calhoon cut mom’s throat.  Then he took my dad, and hung him in a door frame by his wrists and whipped him for an hour.  When they were done, they tossed us in a jail cell.  I remember, before they came back, daddy just held me and cried.  He told me everything was going to be okay, and we were going to be in a better place in a little while, but I didn’t believe him.  He also told me he loved me.  He did.  Just like mom.  God, there were so many wounds on his back and chest.  Calhoun came back a few minutes later.  I’ll never forget what he said: ‘In the name of my father, the holy ghost, I strike down the wicked.’  He took out my father’s pistol, and shot my daddy in the chest.  He died instantly.”

            “I’m sorry,” Jack said.

            “Don’t be.  You and Sam and Paul and Zach are the first good people I’ve met in a long time.”

            Jack smiled.  The boy looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t quite know what.

            “Calhoun looked at me.  He eyed me up and down, leered at me like a tiger looking at raw meat.  He said ‘What’s your name, honey?  Are you a bad little girl?’  He told me that my daddy would wake up and want to eat me if I continued being bad.  He said if I’d join them, they’d let me out of the cage.  I cried, and didn’t say anything.  The messiah just stood there and watched for about twenty minutes.  Then dad’s corpse twitched.  He asked me again, as daddy’s body got up.  It began walking towards me, and I was so scared.  I told the bad man yes.  He slipped daddy’s gun through the bars and said, ‘it has one bullet, you know what to do.’  I just stood there and cried for a second.  Then I knew what had to be done.  I took the gun in both hands, and shot daddy in the head.”

            “My god, you were only seven.”

            “I know.  I know.  After dad’s body hit the floor, Calhoun opened the door, and took the gun from my hand.  Over the next three years, they spent a lot of time drilling their propaganda into my head.  I was bombarded with Calhoun’s twisted bible interpretation, and how the enemy was out there.  It was up to us to destroy them.  I learned about how we gained strength from out fallen comrades by eating their corpses.”

            Jack’s face was twisted in a display of horror.

            “Calhoun saw me a lot, I think more than the other kids.  He was always telling me he thought I was something special, and about how pretty I was and what ever he thought he could say to butter me up.  It never worked.  When you see a man kill your parents, it’s hard to warm up to him.”

            “I can understand that.”

            “When I was ten, they started training me.  They started with basic combat training, how to use a gun, then quickly moved up to larger rifles, when I could handle them.  I was a quick learner, a protegee you could say.  Aside from the weapon’s training, it was much of the same treatment, until I turned fifteen, and they said I was ready for action.  For five years, they had trained me not to be a front line fighter, but to be the support.  To be the warrior in the shadows, an assassin.  I learned to shoot, and to do it well.”

            “I saw.”

            “I mostly shot zombies, but occasionally, when there was an establishment, they would send me in to shoot anyone who might flee.  I’ve murdered people before.”

            “You were just a girl.”

            “Maybe.”  During her whole story, Helen had only looked up from her lap a few times.  Now she moved her glance to Jack’s face, and wondered if what she had just told him would change the way he thought about her.  She wondered if he’d still trust her.  Oh god, she wanted someone to trust her.  She wanted it almost as much as she wanted to trust someone else.  “When I was seventeen, I found out that I had been chosen to bear the messiah’s seed.  He had picked me the day he killed my parents.”

            “That sick fuck.”

            “Yeah, but he never got his chance.  He was planing to implant me a few months from now.  In the winter time.”

            “But you ran away.”

            “Yeah.”

            “My God, it’s a wonder you don’t have worse nightmares than I do.”

            “There’s something else.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Randal Lennux.  He’s ambitious.  He seems to want everything Calhoun has.  That night, he didn’t just try to rape me.”

            Helen could find no more words, and she began to cry.  Jack leaned in close, and took her in his arms.  He pulled her into him, and she rested her head on his shoulder.  Helen was afraid of something else now.  She was afraid that she was beginning to care.  She didn’t want to lose Jack, and now Helen dreaded returning to the compound even more now than ever.

            “It’s okay, I’m not going to let them have you again,” Jack said.  “Helen, I want you to go home, and warn the others.  I’ll take care of Calhoun and Lennux.”

            “No. Don’t be stupid.  You’ll be killed before you get past the compound boarders.  We need each other.”

            “At home, they’ll take you in with open arms.  They’re nice people.”

            “How will you get to the compound without a car?”

            “I’ll hotwire one.”

            “No, I’ll drive you.”

            “No…”

            “I’m going, end of story.”

            “Yes ma’am,” Jack said, and kissed her lightly on the top of her head.

*

            Lennux stood over the prisoner, but not in victory.  He had been disappointed by the pathetic screams and cries the man strapped to the chair had let out earlier, but now, he was silent.  The prisoner was still breathing heavily and clearly felt the pain, but he was still holding.  There were at least two needles stuck under each of his finger nails, as many as four in some, but he still did not break.  The prisoner had not said a word.  Not even a death threat.

            The man bound in the chair was hiding something.  Lennux knew that much, for the man would have been begging for mercy and insisting that he knew nothing by now.  The man in the chair was holding the information, because he knew.  The bastard knew about Lennux’s plans.  He was a pawn in the messiah of nothing’s game.  He was there to taunt Lennux, while his friends stole godhood.

            Well, the fuckers were going to pay.  All of them.  Starting with the man in the chair.

            Lennux reached into his black box.  He had stopped asking questions a half an hour ago.  Now, he just wanted to cause pain.  Knowing when the assassination was going to happen was not very important, because Lennux knew where the rats would attack from.  When Lennux had several needles in his grasp, he pulled his hand out.  There were seven.

            As soon as Lennux was ready to work on the prisoner’s toes, the door to the interrogation room swung open.  Lennux turned and scowled at the intruder.  What the fuck did he want?  How dare he interrupt this interrogation?

            Almost no light touched the doorway, so Lennux swung the hanging light towards the door.  The first thing Lennux noticed was the scar, which marked the right side of his face from forehead to chin.  Leonard Reed stood in the doorway, as always, wearing his crimson cloak.  At thirty-two, Reed was the messiah’s most trusted guard, the most elite of the elite.  Reed had no troops under his direct control, but he and the other royal dogs outranked all of the generals and commanders, including Randal Lennux.

            When he became God, the first thing he would do was smite the elite guard, starting with Reed.

            “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” Lennux growled.

            “The messiah himself sent me.  He said we do not need to question the heretic any more.  He shall stand trial tomorrow.  The prisoner will need his energy,” Reed said.

            “But there are others, and they plan to attack.”

            “Inconsequential.  The master says ‘let them come.’”

            Lennux wasn’t God yet, so he had to comply.  Lennux balled his hands into fists, and shook them over his head, growling.  He wanted blood, but he would have to wait.  Stomping his feet, Lennux made his way to the prisoner, and tore the needles out, one finger at a time, not bothering to remove them one needle at a time.  The prisoner winced with every yank.  And with every yank, Lennux’s anger grew.

            Lennux would not get to shed any more blood today.

            Tomorrow, Lennux thought, tomorrow.

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