or 
DUSK
The night dragged on endlessly, and the sandman never found Lennux, who turned fitfully in his quarters. He was still restless after the last two nights, when his path seemed to unfold before him, when the angel of doom was killed. Then, his mission was just a simple hunt. Lennux was to find the heathens and kill them. Unfortunately, Lennux had underestimated the enemy. Now, they had attacked the base with suicidal recklessness, and Lennux was sure there were more attackers coming.
Finally, after four hours of tossing and turning in his bed, Lennux pulled on his pants, and walked to his window, which overlooked the east side of the complex from floor twenty. The night was deceptively still, and the darkness provided perfect cover for assassins, but Lennux knew they would not come tonight. No, if a strike against the messiah was to happen tonight, it would have happened at the same time the assault on the armories occurred. The attack would probably happen tomorrow, during daylight. Perhaps rat was not the right word to describe them. They were not cowardly, but sly and dangerous. They were not afraid of the light, and they could strike at any moment. These heathens were more like snakes.
No matter. Rats or snakes, Lennux would rush those who would oppose him no matter what they were. If Randal Lennux was going to be God, he was going to have to be able to accomplish certain tasks, and this was just a test. He was going to have to kill the snakes without the aid of the messiah, with only the powers he now possessed. And those powers had grown within the last few days. Lennux had climbed the ranks from a lieutenant to general in an instant. Now he had troops under his command, and he could give them orders without answering to anyone, save for the messiah who would have his hands tied with the trial of Samuel Patterson.
Lennux grinned.
All the god to be would have to do was send troops to the abandoned building by the executive tower before sunrise, and his godhood would be assured.
There were no clocks in the room, so Lennux had to gaze at the sky to confirm his inner clock. There were no clouds, so the task was rather easy. As Lennux suspected, he only had two hours until dawn. That gave him an hour and forty-five minutes to post guards inside and outside of the building.
Lennux groaned and rubbed the crusty remnants of shallow sleep out of his eyes. Tonight, when this was all over, Lennux would sleep well. For now, Lennux supposed there would be no rest for the wicked.
For the time being, Lennux was going to have to wake his troops. He supposed he would only need ten dogs under his command, but Lennux would wake thirty. This time he would take no chances. It was going to end today.
Lennux walked over to his closet, and pulled the doors open. Inside, there were ten pairs of matching black uniform shirts and paints. All had the patches which represented Lennux’s rank and standing in the messiah’s army. He pulled one of the shirts from the closet, and tossed it on, not bothering to tuck it in. With a sudden urgency, like he psychically knew something was out to stop him, Lennux rushed to put his boots on.
Lennux began to run to the door, but before he had his hand around the knob, there was a nock.
Fuck, who could this be? Lennux wondered. He dreaded that whoever it was would be there to stop his plans. Anger grew in his stomach, and carried its way to Lennux’s arms, which trembled with apprehension and anticipation. Maybe the intruder would be someone he could kill. Or maybe it wasn’t anyone out to ruin Lennux’s godhood.
There was no way Lennux could sneak out and avoid the guest, so he reached out, turned the knob, and opened the door.
One the other side stool Leonard Reed. Lennux quickly killed the scowl on his face, and grinned, as though happy to see the puppet of the messiah of nothing. Lennux wished he could kill the bastard now.
“Good, you are already awake,” Reed said, grinning. The guard was obviously pleased to disturb Lennux.
Lennux was tempted to say “What the fuck do you want?” but knew better. Instead, he said, “Yes, I was just on my way out. Big day ahead.”
“That is why the messiah wants to see you,” Reed said. “There is going to be a rather large crowd at the trial today, and the great one wants everyone present. All three thousand of his disciples are to be there, save for a few guards and the nursery staff. He predicts something big will happen.”
Shit, Lennux thought, something big means he expects to be assassinated and rise again.
“Three thousand witnesses will be there and the messiah wants you in charge of crowd control. There is not nearly enough space inside of the courtroom to accommodate that many witnesses, so there will be a large crowd gathering outside under the east window.”
No, he can’t do that! The east window’s in view of the abandoned building. Is he trying to make his assassination easy?
Lennux wanted to punch Reed in the face, and pull out his knife so he could carve a scar on the left side of the guard’s face to match the one on his right. Lennux would even take Reed’s good eye.
“But I have reason to believe there will be an assassination attempt today, during the trial.”
“The messiah is counting on it,” Reed said. “I know you care about his well being, but our god can take care of His son. He knows what He’s doing.”
Great.
Though Lennux wanted to punch the guard in the face, and stab him repeatedly, Lennux just nodded. If there was one thing Lennux had learned from living most of his life with the cult, it was that there was no arguing with the insane. Lennux would have to figure a way to keep an eye out for the snakes, and sneak away with some troops when they were spotted.
“Alright,” Lennux said. “There’s much to be done.”
*
Something clanged against metal, making a loud noise, like harsh chimes, which rang in Sam’s ears, and reverberated through his skull and teeth. For a moment, Sam could not comprehend what the noise could possibly be.
Then he tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes, but couldn’t because his hands were bound behind his back by chicken wire, which cut into his skin. Then, the pain from last night rushed through Sam’s body. His fingers and hands throbbed, and the rest of his body ached. Sam’s hands were sore, and his arms were asleep. A dull pounding in Sam’s skull grew more and more intense with every chime of the door.
Last night hadn’t been a nightmare. Zach and Paul were still dead, and Sam was still a prisoner of war.
Sam tried to remember more of last night, specifically about the interrogation. Had Sam told the grizzly man anything? He didn’t think so, but his memory was still sketchy. All he could really remember were the needles.
The needles.
Sam balled his hands into fists, and winced in pain. He wondered how much crusted blood coated them, and how much was under the finger nails, where the needles had been stuck. For the first time in the last several hours, Sam was glad his hands were bound behind his back.
When Sam sat up, the door stopped chiming. There were three guards standing at the gate, all in black, hooded uniforms. One of them had a rifle aimed at Sam’s chest. It looked like a .22, but in his grogginess, Sam wasn’t quite sure. The other two guards appeared to be unarmed, though Sam was sure they had some firepower hidden in their uniforms.
If Sam were to attack the guards when they opened the cell door, they would be forced to kill him. Sam figured he might be able to kill one of the guards before being shot. The unarmed guard closest to the gate was small, at only about five feet and four inches tall, weighing probably only one hundred and forty pounds, Sam could probably finish the small one off quickly.
“Glad you’re finally awake,” the guard with the gun said.
Sam was inclined to disagree, but kept his mouth shut.
“This rifle is loaded with a mild tranquilizer, so if you’re looking to avoid judgment by getting shot, you have another thing coming.”
“I won’t bite then,” Sam said.
One more hope dashed.
Then Sam
remembered something else. Today, he was
supposed to be on trial. Most likely,
the entire proceeding was a mockery, like the
The disillusioned and tired ex cop turned soldier wanted the situation to end.
“The sun is going to be out in a half an hour,” the guard with the gun said, “so we have to get you ready for your day in court.”
For the first time, Sam noticed that it was still dark, but not as dark as it had been earlier. The sun was getting ready to shine on a new day: Sam’s last.
“These two soldiers are going to help you get cleaned up, one way or another. We’re going to wash you up, and give you a nice uniform to wear in court so you will look nice and fresh for the judge. But if you give them any trouble, I’ll put you to sleep. There’s no way out of it so you might as well cooperate.”
Sam nodded, and the small guard unlocked the cell door.
When the gate was opened, the larger unarmed guard stepped through. The guard’s stride was confident and slow, like God himself would make sure this guard made it to his destination and did whatever he had to do. He was about five feet and eight inches tall weighing maybe two hundred pounds. Unlike the smaller guard, the big guy looked like he did not need a weapon. His face was hardened from years of combat, and there were small scars and wrinkles all over his skin. Sam guessed the guard’s age at thirty-eight, but it was hard to tell. His large arms swung loosely at his side, back and forth, and at the ends, the guard’s hands were huge. The hands were so huge that the guard looked like he could have easily strangled a gorilla with them.
Behind the ape, the midget walked in with equal confidence. The guard with the rifle stayed behind the bars.
The two unarmed guards moved to either side of Sam; the small guard at Sam’s left and the gorilla at his right. They grabbed his arms, and yanked Sam to his feet, hurting his shoulders. The smaller guard must have been stronger than he looked, for Sam’s left arm, was yanked upward harder than his right. Sam grunted.
“Move,” the guard with the gun said, “or they’ll move you.”
Sam nodded.
“Down the hall, there is a shower. Clean yourself up and we’ll give you a change of clothes. Pull any shit and it won’t be pleasant.”
Sam said nothing, but walked forward, when one of the guards pushed from behind. The guard with the rifle backed away from the bars and kept his rifle trained on Sam, like he was not watching a battered prisoner with his hands bound behind his back, but a tiger being let out of its cage, angry and ready to strike at any second. Sam didn’t give the guard any reason to shoot, but for every step Sam made towards the bars, the gunman took a step back. Sam guessed it was a precaution. If he tried to attack the guards, the quickest way to stop him would be a gunshot, whether or not the rifle was really loaded with tranquilizer darts. For the time being, Sam did not want to find out.
“Good, keep moving.”
Sam did as he was told.
When Sam and the two other guards were out of the cell, Sam followed the gunman down the hall to a bathroom, which had been stripped of everything but a shower nozzle and bath tub. The sink was gone, and Sam had no means of shaving or brushing his teeth, but that was not the purpose of cleaning up. They just wanted to rinse the blood off of their prisoner.
“Into the tub.”
Sam did as the gunman instructed, and the larger guard moved towards Sam and freed his hands.
“You even think of trying anything and you won’t like what happens,” the guard with the gun said.
Without saying a word or giving any response, Sam moved his arms in front of him and rotated his wrists, alternately holding them with his hands. Having the chicken wire taken off felt good, but Sam knew it would only last for a short time.
The two unarmed guards stepped outside of the door, but the one with the rifle stayed inside.
“Go ahead and clean up. I’m going to stay here to make sure you don’t try anything funny. You’re not going to avoid judgment.”
Sam did as he was instructed.
*
The sun was out now, shining in the sky with yellow radiance. The fiery globe had emerged in the sky a half an hour ago, rousing Jack from his doze. Jack couldn’t believe he had slept during his watch. He supposed it didn’t matter much, because nothing had attacked the Mustang, while Jack and Helen slept.
Beside him, Helen was still asleep on her side, with her head propped against the headrest, and facing Jack. Her black hair draped the left side of her face, covering her left eye. The girl looked at peace.
After her story last night, Helen just sat in the driver’s seat of the Mustang in silence, but she had still been aware. It was almost as though she and Jack were communicating through their eyes. Though she was drained after telling the story, she didn’t cry. It was as if she’d been drained of tears as a child and that made Jack hate the cult even more. Surely the society before the end of the world would have used its structured power and resources to stop evil men like Calhoun. They had systems, rules, and laws with police and soldiers to back them. Now, the only rules were the rules of nature and karma. Eventually, an evil doer would run into a more powerful school of fish.
Jack just hoped Calhoun’s time was now, and Jack and Helen were the fish. Jack couldn’t bear the thought of dying only so Calhoun could continue to murder innocent survivors for however long his reign would last. If Jack was going to die, he wanted to take Calhoun with him.
Then
there was the matter of this Lennux character.
Jack knew that killing such an evil man was the right thing to do, for
allowing such an evil to roam the Earth was a crime in itself, but that was not
why Jack wanted to kill him. Lennux had
made Helen suffer. He had raped her. And Jack suspected that the girl was more
afraid of him than she was of Calhoun, and for that, Jack despised him. Jack wanted to make Lennux suffer the way the
sack of shit had made Helen suffer. Jack
wanted to see fear in Lennux’s eyes. He
wanted Lennux to beg for mercy Jack before shoved a knife in his throat. Jack wanted to avenge the woman who had saved
his life. The woman who trusted Jack,
Sam, and the rest enough to risk everything for them. The night they met Helen, she said she could
have been halfway to
But there was more to it than that. Jack had never hated anyone this much, not even the faceless soldiers who slaughtered his fellow troops, and tried to kill him the night before last. They had been following orders. They were fighting for some cause, however misguided they were. They were making the same mistakes Helen had made, and after meeting her, Jack found it hard to pass judgment on them. They might not even have been the soldiers to commit the atrocities at the base. Jack knew nothing about them, though he suspected his feelings would change if he had.
Nobody had ordered Lennux to rape Helen. Calhoun considered the girl his property, and off limits to everyone else. Lennux had committed the malicious act out jealously. Lennux had broken orders to cause pain, and he wanted the power that was Calhoun’s.
Still, Jack knew his hatred of Lennux had a deeper, yet more basic reason. Jack cared for Helen. When he first met her, she was mysterious and intriguing. She had saved the lives of Jack, Sam, Paul, and Zach. And she was damn gorgeous. Helen seemed like a killing machine ready to fight any evil. Since then, she had grown to trust Jack. She had revealed a side to Jack that she hadn’t show anyone. Last night, for the first time, Jack realized that despite what she had been through, Helen was still a girl, a child. She had been forced to grow up in many ways, but had never matured in others. Helen was more vulnerable than she seemed, and Jack wanted to protect her.
Suddenly, Jack felt guilty for allowing her to come back with him. After all the girl had been through, Jack was allowing her to return to the compound, where she had a first class taste of hell.
But Jack knew that there was no arguing. For the same reasons she had not been able to leave Jack and the others to die, Helen would not be able to leave without stopping the evil. Perhaps it was penance for her sins. She said she had killed people who were trying to flee. Jack didn’t doubt it, but Helen was just a scared and confused girl. She was doing what she thought was right, and that sure as hell counted for something, but not to her. Jack knew that arguing with Helen was no use, because if she did not go, Helen would not be able to live with herself.
After watching Helen rest for a few more minutes, Jack decided that it was time to wake her.
He reached over, and gently pulled the long strands of hair out of sleeping girl’s face. She was smiling as if she was in the middle of a pleasant dream. For a moment, Jack envied her. His sleep had been haunted by nightmares for most of his life, while she slept peacefully. Then Jack felt guilty. Helen had been forced to suffer constantly in her waking hours, with sleep as her only escape. Jack’s escape from his nightmares was reality. He felt even worse for having to wake Helen and pull her into her nightmare.
Helen had a beautiful smile, and Jack hoped he would live to see more of it.
With his right hand still at the girl’s hair, Jack caressed the side of her face, and slowly slipped his hand down the smooth skin on her cheek and neck to the denim covering her shoulder. Jack gently gripped the girl’s shoulder and shook.
“Helen,” Jack said, “Helen, it’s time to wake up.”
“Hmmm?” she sighed.
“It’s daylight.”
Helen’s smile didn’t fade, but she opened her eyes.
“I can see that,” she said.
“Wiseass.”
Helen giggled.
“When do you want to head out?” Jack asked.
Now her smile faded, but not into a grimace or frown, just into a casual expression.
“Not yet, we still have a little time. I want to get a second look at what we have. We’ll need to set some traps. We’re going to be sneaking into the compound in broad daylight. I want to scope the place out again, and see where we can slip through. But first, I want to eat something.”
“Food sounds good.”
“What would you like for your last meal?” Helen asked.
Jack’s stomach dropped, like he fell a hundred feet. Suddenly Jack wasn’t hungry any more, but he would eat whatever Helen offered. As unappealing as food sounded at the moment, Jack did not want to die on an empty stomach.
Helen’s expression changed to a look of concern. She must have sensed the change in Jack’s mood.
“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.”
They fell silent and remained silent until after breakfast.
Helen pulled a can of pears and a can of peaches out of a box in the back seat of the Mustang. Helen reached back into the box for another two cans of assorted mixed fruits. She must have had several dozens of cans in the back seat, organized by respective meals. Jack considered going to the stream and catching a fish, but decided against it, because he had nothing to catch them with. Besides, Jack was not a good fisherman.
After examining the cans for a moment, Helen tossed the can of pears to Jack. After he caught it, Helen picked up a can of the mixed fruit, and made two underhand gestures to make sure Jack was ready to catch. He nodded. She tossed the can to him. Jack caught the second can and set it next to the first.
Jack knelt down next to the cans, and searched his shirt pockets for his pocket knife, which was pretty much good for everything. The knife had belonged to Jack’s father. Jack’s mother gave him the knife for his tenth birthday. Now, he never went anywhere without it. Aside from the sentimental value, the knife was damn useful. The knife had a standard three inch retractable blade, a small pair of wire cutters, a few other gadgets, which Jack had never used, and had no clue what they were for, and to Jack’s interest right now, a can opener.
When Jack found the knife, he pulled it out of his pocket and detracted the can opener, which Jack used for the can of pears. By the time Jack was finished opening the can, Helen was sitting beside him, opening the can of peaches with a hand held can opener with a crank. When she finished with the can opener, Helen turned to Jack, and extended her arm, with the can opener in her hand, offering it. Jack shook his head and smiled.
He finished with his can opener and folded it back into its slot, unfolded the knife, and began impaling pears with it. The contents of the can were warm, but still sweet, and had not aged or gone bad in the twenty-two years since the can had been filled. The pairs were soft, but still relatively solid, and Jack scooped them up and greedily shoved them in his mouth, faster than he could chew. Though ravenous in his consumption, Jack was still careful not to skewer his tongue on the knife’s blade. Jack’s appetite had returned in force, with the incoming food, and Jack was glad he had the second can.
Next to Jack, Helen ate her peaches with a spoon, just as quickly as Jack was consuming his can. When they finished eating the fruit, both soldiers drank the juice inside of their cans, and opened their cans of mixed fruit. They ate the second round of cans with the same speed and gusto as they had when they inhaled the first.
When they finished breakfast, Helen stood up, and presented a more serious domineer.
“We’re going to move out in a couple of minutes, but fist I want to double check our weapons. I want to see how much we can carry.”
“Alright.”
“I want to think this out for a second. Before I ran off, I spent a lot time in that building. Nobody ever went there, so it was a good place to hide. I know where just about every weak spot is. I think I can figure where any troops will enter, and where we’ll need cover. We won’t have enough time to get every hallway and window, but we should be able to buy some time.”
Jack nodded, but had no idea what Helen was talking about.
The girl walked around to the back of the Mustang, and opened the trunk. Helen bent over, and reached inside. For a second, she strained to pull something out. Then Helen had hoisted a wooden box out of the trunk, and set it on the ground. She stood up, and looked over to Jack, beckoning him to come closer.
Jack obliged.
“Count these,” she said. “There is also a shotgun and some ammunition back there. There’s also duct tape and fishing wire.”
Without a word, Jack did as Helen instructed, while she went back to the trunk and gathered the other items. Inside of the box, there were several green grenades, with latitudinal and longitudinal grooves, forming squares, like those on a globe all over the surface. They each had a handle and pin, which acted as the detonator. When Jack counted a grenade, he took it out of the box, and set it gently down, next to the wooden container in a neat pile, which grew with every handheld explosive device. There was a total of sixty green globes of death.
Finished counting, Jack looked to his left and saw Helen sitting next to him with an organized pile of shotgun shells, one shotgun, three rolls of fishing wire, and two rolls of duct tape.
“There are only ten shotgun shells. That’s not enough to make this thing worthwhile for shooting. I’d rather stick with my rifle and pistols if I need them. I don’t much like shotguns anyway,” Helen said.
“Do we leave it behind?”
“No we’ll think of something to do with it. How many grenades?”
“Sixty.”
She smiled.
“Good, we’ll probably only get to use ten or twenty. The rest we can keep handy,” Helen said.
“What are we going to do with the grenades we’re using?”
“You’ll see.”
Helen looked over to Jack for a second and Jack gazed into her deep blue eyes. Goddamn she had gorgeous eyes. They were eyes Jack could have been happily lost in until the sun went down and he could not longer see into them. But behind them, Jack could see fear. Helen had put up her tough exterior, which had gotten her through the last eleven years but was unable to hide her fear. Jack put a hand on her shoulder, and smiled. Helen blushed and looked away.
When Helen looked back, she seemed like she wanted to say something important, perhaps expressing something she had never allowed herself to express before. Jack was not sure how to capitalize on this moment. Unlike most of his comrades, Jack never had any luck with the women back home. He had never so much as taken one out to the one movie theater, which mostly showed old westerns, cartoons, and Three Stooges shorts. He had most certainly never taken a woman to his bed. Now Jack found one he was really interested in, and he didn’t know what in the hell he was doing.
Jack cursed himself not only for his inadequacy, but for thinking about love and sex at a time like this. They had to stay focused for the battle ahead, or they would surely die, and Jack would never be able to treat Helen to a movie or dinner and she would not get to reveal more of herself to Jack.
Instead of expressing her undying love and desire for Jack, Helen said: “It’s time to go.”
*
Their return to the compound was much less nerve racking than the retreat last night. Away from the cover of the trees, the morning sunlight was almost painfully bright, and Helen would have killed for a pair of sunglasses. But she could still see, and did not have to squint very much. Her eyes were adjusting quickly.
Outside of the Mustang, there were hundreds of ghouls on the street, forming a drooling mob of hungry flesh eaters. If the Mustang chose now to break down or quit, both Helen and Jack would be a free meal for the ghouls outside. They had no torches to scare the ghouls away, so they would have to fend them off with a limited supply of grenades and bullets.
Luckily, the Mustang was running perfectly. Helen always kept it in perfect working order, and made sure there was nothing wrong with it. There was plenty of gas. She had only changed the oil three days before she left the cult. The tires were new, and the engine was in pristine condition. Nothing was likely to go wrong until the Mustang reached its destination. And that something would not be mechanical failure.
For a while, Helen was worried that the ghouls would gather in front of the Mustang in a thick enough grouping to block it. Helen saw this happen once, about two years ago when she was part of a two car scouting group. The group was searching for food, and Helen was in the support car, which gave sniper cover to the car in the lead. They did not have any large vehicles traveling in front to use as battering rams, and there was only so much a car could take. The lead car was ahead of Helen by about a hundred yards, and held the lead for the rest of the mission. They passed an abandoned shopping center, and that was when a mob of over a thousand lepers swarmed the streets. They were not scattered like the ones outside of the Mustang in the present, but packed like they were planning an ambush. Helen remembered soldiers shooting into the mob, and putting several of them down, but it was not enough. It was never enough. They swarmed into the street even faster, and packed themselves tighter and tighter, until the car in the lead was stuck, while the support had enough time to avoid the jam. Helen had taken out her sniper rifle and began shooting, but the rest of the soldiers in the car with her were just laughing at the misfortune of their comrades. They did not lift a finger to help. Helen vividly remembered the soldiers in the lead car being pulled out and torn apart by the rabid dead. Their death screams carried all the way back to the car. They carried into the present and Helen shuddered.
Not only did most of the ghouls stay on the sidewalk, but they did not even seem to notice the Mustang rolling past them at forty-five mile an hour. Maybe the lepers were practicing old habit. Maybe they just didn’t think there was anything eatable in the car. The only thing that mattered was that they stayed out of Helen’s damn way.
In the passenger’s seat, Jack was surprisingly calm, even as he kept his finger on the trigger of his M-16. According to the last ammo count, Jack only had about fifty rounds left for the rifle. Both Jack and Helen had six loaded pistols strapped to them, which each held six bullets in a cylinder or up to fifteen in a magazine.
Then there were the grenades. After setting traps, there would be leftovers, which could be used against a first wave of attacking troops. They’d use the grenades first, unless the enemy was out in the open. If Dan was in charge of the attack, he was liable to do something like lead an open charge, knowing that God would not allow them to lose. If it was Lennux, picking off the troops would not be so easy. He’d make sure of that. And he’d be at the tail end of the charge, to avoid catching a bullet.
The image of Lennux’s knife flashed in front of Helen’s mind eye. For an instant, time had reversed three weeks, and Helen was back in her room, where Lennux had been waiting. She saw a shadow pass before Lennux grabbed her from behind, but the warning came too late. Before Helen could act, the knife was at her throat, ready to cut but being held back by its master; her master for the time being. She could smell Lennux’s rotten breath as he told her: “so much as breathe and I’ll cut you a new smile.”
Better get control of yourself before you get us all killed girl, Helen thought.
She couldn’t afford to unravel now, lives were on the line. In her time with the cultists, Helen had learned to subdue her emotions, and become pure ice in order to get things done. Now, she was a wreck. And when she needed her inner icy bitch the most. Helen said a prayer to herself, looking for the strength to get through the day’s tasks.
Helen looked to her right and found it. Jack was looking at her with a concerned expression on his face. After last night, the boy was probably worried that Helen would fall apart before they even got where they were going. He had the audacity to ask her to retreat. But she supposed he had every right not to trust her after the way she had panicked. Well, she thought, it won’t happen again.
This time, Jack did not say anything. He just sat there, looking at her. Under better circumstances, Helen wound not mind attention from Jack, but now she wished she could turn invisible. She was too afraid that she would unravel again, and this time, he would force her to leave. If Jack went in alone, he would die for sure, and Helen did not intend to let that happen. It had been a long time since she had met anyone she felt she could trust, and now that she had found him she did not intend to let him down.
She had a home she had never seen, waiting if she survived this ordeal. More than that, Helen did not want to enter the gates of her new home alone. She wanted to share the moment with someone she knew. She wanted someone to introduce her to people worth knowing, and to show her around. She wanted someone to take her out for a night on the town. It had been a long time since she had been on any kind of a night on any town, in fact it had been what she was six. Most of all, Helen wanted that someone to be Jack.
Two ghouls stepped into the road, but Helen avoided them with ease. Those were the last two trouble makers they saw, for the rest stayed out of the way. As they got closer and closer to the compound, there were less and less lepers outside, but the decrease in the undead was only the eye of the storm. The real danger lay ahead.
When they were a quarter of a mile away from the base, Helen parked the Mustang in an alley.
She turned to Jack and said “Same drill as before, I want to do a little scouting, then we go back and get what we can carry.”
Jack nodded.
“Let’s scale the fire escape of this building. We should be able to get a good view of the perimeter from there. I have a feeling there won’t be too many guards trying to stop us from getting in.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Getting out will be next to impossible.”
“Sounds fun,” Jack said.
Helen smiled and said “Let’s move.”
Jack grabbed his M-16, opened the passenger side door, and left the car. Helen did the same, and followed Jack to the fire escape.
Jack looked up and said “I hope I don’t have to climb another one of these for a while.”
Helen shook her head, and climbed up with Jack behind.
The fifteen story climb took Helen around eleven minutes, and Jack kept pace the entire time. Despite the boy’s complaint, his time was getting better. When Jack reached the roof, he hardly seemed winded.
When they were safely on top of the roof, Helen walked to the west side, which faced the compound. From the rooftop, they would have a clear view for miles around, which would give them sight of the east perimeter of the compound, as well as the surface of the streets.
“Jack, you scout the north side, I’ll scout the west.”
Jack nodded, and unslung his backpack. When the pack was on the rooftop, Jack knelt next to it and unzipped the top. He reached inside, and pulled out a black pair of binoculars.
Helen used the scope of her rifle to spy on the compound. With the modifications on her rifle, she could probably kill any guards at the edge of the base with ease, but the assault would have tipped off the rest of the forces on the base, and Helen did not have nearly enough ammunition to kill every cultist from the rooftop.
Towards the edge of the compound, there was no movement of troops, nor were there any visible guards outside. There were probably one or two at each post who were to lay low and tell if anyone entered the compound, or to stop any lepers from entering the sacred grounds.
The entire south side of the compound seemed dead. There was no movement in the streets, and the rope bridges, connecting the buildings were all empty. If the bridges had been missing, Helen would have suspected that the cultists had picked up and left over night. But the network of bridges was still there. The place seemed like a ghost town.
“Look at that,” Jack said.
“What?”
“The center of the base. Right by the tall building.”
Helen turned her scope to the middle of the compound, where the executive building was. Outside, there was a large crowd gathering. There were several armed guards outside, and ten jeeps flanking each side of the crowd protecting them, or more likely keeping them inside. In less than two hours, there would likely be a trial and execution, which was good luck on the part of Helen and Jack, but misfortune for Sam, Paul, and Zach or whichever of the three were still alive.
“They’re gonna be pretty occupied. We’ll probably be able to slip in real easy,” Helen said.
A hulking figure dressed in black moved through the crowd, barking orders. Helen followed him with her sniper scope so she could get a view of his face. When she saw who was giving the orders, Helen let out a gasp.
“What?” Jack asked.
“That guy giving orders.”
Jack looked for a second. “King Kong over there? Yeah, I see him. What about him?”
“That’s Lennux.”
“That’s Lennux?” Jack’s voice cracked.
“Yes.”
“Is he as tough as he looks?”
“He’s worse.”
“That doesn’t change anything. We’re still not leaving here until Calhoun and Lennux are dead.”
Helen nodded, but she had no idea Jack really intended to stick around to kill Lennux. That would be suicide.
When the conversation died, Helen raised her sniper scope, but this time, away from the crowd. This time she focused on the eastern perimeter, where they would be entering. Helen swept the perimeter for motion twice, then looked closer. She saw something. There was a stationary figure somewhere at the perimeter. When Helen found it, she nearly screamed.
Jack must have noticed her reaction, because he shifted the binoculars to see what all the fuss was about. All Helen could think to do was shout “no” and yank the binoculars out of Jack’s grip.
“What the hell?” Jack asked.
“You don’t want to see it.”
“What is it?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to see it. Oh god, don’t make me tell you Jack, just trust me. Trust me.”
She put a hand on his cheek.
“Helen, if it’s that bad I have to know.”
Helen nodded. She paused for a second, feeling numb inside. She was beginning to suppress her emotions, but she wasn’t doing a good job, not yet. The situation still overwhelmed her. Still, she would not cry now, not yet, for there would be a lot more death before the day was done.
Jack extended his right hand, and Helen returned his binoculars. Jack raised them to his face, and looked around where Helen had scouted.
“No,” Jack said, “no.”
Gently, Helen took the binoculars from Jack, and took the boy in her arms.
“I can’t believe they did that to him,” Jack said, referring to Paul’s crucified body.
Helen guessed that the fallen solder had only been dead for a few hours. He was wounded in his shoulder and his leg, and had lost a lot of blood, but he could not have been crucified for long. The cultists had only caught him last night. Now his dead body thrashed and snapped at air and tried to pull itself off of the crucifix, but the thing would never succeed. No leper had ever pulled itself off of the cross.
The corpse had been left out in the open for show. The sturdy wooden crucifix was secured into the ground so nothing could nock it over. Paul had been nailed to the cross twenty feet in the air, so no flesh eaters would be able to pick at his corpse. Calhoun wanted to leave a message. He knew there were others out there.
The welcome mat was laid out. Now all the two soldiers had to do was step inside.
*
Society died twenty-two years ago. There was no morning paper delivery or trash pickup. The mail man would not be riding through the neighborhood. There were no sporting events nor any concerts or plays. None of the stores were open. The twenty-four hour gas stations were all closed. Outside of the compound walls, the world was dead for miles, but birds still chirped.
It was a mad world where looters and raving lunatics could rule with iron claws and the police could be tried by the criminals, but Sam supposed some things never changed. To say the world was completely dead was inaccurate at best. Around the nation and the rest of the world, there could very well be hundreds of large establishments that the others did not know about because they were too afraid to explore. There was still wildlife for certain. The birdsong was proof of that.
In addition to the birds, there was other wildlife, for the ghouls only ate human flesh. On rare occasion, Sam had spotted deer grazing in meadows or grassy fields, miles from the colony. The deer seemed to stay away from people, but every once and a while, a patrol would return with a trophy which made a fine feast.
Oh how funny it was the pleasures people still took for granted even after the end of the world. This very moment, someone back home was sleeping in. Someone else was relaxing and reading a book before a long day of work. Someone else was reading the daily news. Others were out taking a morning walk and basking in the sun. Last night, the husbands on the base were making love to their wives, and many of the younger men and women were enjoying one night stands. Throughout the night, all of the bars and clubs would have been opened. The colony movie theater was playing Blazing Saddles. The week before, it was a double feature of The Good The Bad and The Ugly and High Plains Drifter.
All Sam did was sit in his cell and wait for the executioner.
For the last few hours, the sunlight shined into the cell, casting out most of the darkness, leaving mostly thin shadows. The cool night air began to turn warm and humid. It might be unbearably hot two hours from now. The cool breeze of the night had died, and the cell’s reek of mildew grew more intense.
In the darkness of the night, Sam did not see how dusty and ill repaired it was. He did not see the layers of cobwebs which coated every corner in the room, like mesh curtains. In the light, Sam now saw dried trails and puddles of blood all over the floor. The blood had been Paul’s.
More blood on Sam’s hands.
By noon, Sam would suffer the same fate as Paul, and atone for his incompetence with his life. Once Sam’s blood was on his own hands, the other blood would no longer matter.
At least the guards did not bind Sam’s hands again when they locked him back in the cell. With his hands free, using the bathroom was a lot easier and Sam did not feel his arms cramping behind him.
Sam looked down at the fresh white uniform the cultists gave him to wear to his trial. In the pocketless white shirt and white pants, Sam thought he looked rather saintly. He had been cleaned and rested. Even after the three guards took him to the shower and gave him fresh clothes, Sam had managed to get another hour of sleep. It was funny how death was so near, and all Sam wanted to do was kill time by sleeping and daydreaming about the past when most men in Sam’s position would want to make every moment last, savoring life like a juicy steak.
Steak, now there was something Sam missed. The last time Sam had a steak was shortly after the country fell into chaos. It was the day after Sam met Rob. The group of refugees Sam hid with had gathered a lot of perishable foods for a last feast. A young refugee named Jimmy had said most of the good stuff would go bad shortly after the power was out so there was no reason not to indulge. That night three of the refugees cooked an excellent dinner of sirloin steak, cheese burgers, bacon, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and there had been plenty of beer. There were no more than fifty survivors hiding inside of a hotel, but the feast was easily fit for a hundred. The meal was served twenty-two years ago, but the taste of the food now lingered in Sam’s mouth as though he had only consumed it thirty seconds ago.
The survivors ate as though that night was the last one they would live, and for fifteen of them it was. About two hours after the last bite was taken, and the dining room was cleaned, two doors on the opposite sides of the hotel collapsed. Then a window was shattered, and the board barricading the glass broke in two, and hit the ground. The guards at other windows and doors scrambled to the breached entry points to fight off the ravenous intruders.
Two of the refugees were dragged outside, kicking and screaming. One was a middle aged accountant with a bad comb over and soiled blazer he never removed. The accountant was not a very good shot, but he had grit and spirit. The other was an attractive twenty year old woman who was taking classes at the university. She’d been giving Sam the eye the whole time they were boarded up in that hotel, and tried to pull Sam away from his post and into the bedroom on one occasion. Sam had regretfully turned her down. Sam, Rob, and the other refugees could not retrieve the two victims, so Sam shot the woman in the head and Jimmy shot the accountant. Sam didn’t even remember the woman’s name.
Before they knew what happened, there were flesh eaters behind the group. They had entered from the other side of the hotel. Sam remembered screams from one of the other rooms, and Rob, who everyone looked to as a leader, shouted for everyone to move up stairs, and defend the stairwell. On the way out of the room, three of the refugees were snatched by the flesh eaters. When they were almost there, Jimmy was bitten in the leg. The boy only lasted three hours.
That night, the survivors were able to fend off the attacking undead. There had only been sixty or seventy ghouls, but more would come, and the hotel was not sturdy enough to hide in. The ghouls got in too easily, and there was only so much ammunition. The undead could be fended off indefinitely if the survivors were well organized and had sturdy walls to hide behind, but this was not the place.
Between the attack that left the refugees vulnerable, and the time the survivors executed a plan to escape the hotel and find other people, they had no means of keeping large numbers of ghouls outside, so the living had to stay as quiet as the dead, especially during the day time. They did not use any of the lights, and did not move around much. If any undead found the refugees, they were to attack with clubs, and only use guns if they got swarmed. The survivors stayed on the second and third floors, almost holding their breath, and eating canned food they had stored on the second floor. Nobody was allowed to set foot on the first floor without being escorted by Sam or Rob.
It was funny how Rob trusted Sam from the moment they first met. Out of all of the refugees, Sam was the only one with combat training. A few knew how to fire guns, but Sam was the only one who had extensive weapons training and knew hand to hand combat, not just from the police force, but from growing up in a tough neighborhood. Sam was also the survivor with the most experience in fighting the flesh eaters. There was a lot Sam could teach the survivors, but he was also a guardian. Thank God Rob was there or the others would have looked to Sam as a leader, never minding the fact that he was a black man. They were all too afraid of their dead to care. The moment the system fell, all people seemed to see was the black and blue uniform, and not once had anyone called Sam a pig or any other name. They knew Sam represented authority, and it scared Sam, how people hungered for order, and how willing they were to follow any figure of authority. It was no wonder someone like Calhoun had been able to take charge, and gain so much power. People were afraid to say no because they did not know they could fight for themselves.
Three days after the attack, Sam and two other troops left the hotel and hot-wired a van that was parked across the street. There were thirty-five people left, and the van would not be enough, but they wanted large vehicles and the van was the largest. The van could fit twelve people. Those twelve would be crammed inside like sardines, but they would have a ride. Sam had no idea how many more vehicles the troops would need to accumulate, but he was sure they would not have enough time.
And he was right. God how Sam hated it when he was right. When they reached the van, there were no undead on the streets. By the time they got it running, the streets were almost flooded. Sam remembered feeling his gut sink and flip. He nearly lost his canned breakfast. There would not be any time to hotwire another vehicle, so Sam told the two other troops to drive off and find help. Sam would go back to the others. There was no way in hell he was going to leave them.
After Sam hopped out of the van, and ducked behind a Pinto, the van slowly accelerated through the growing crowd of undead. Miraculously, they were all after the van. None had even spotted Sam, and getting back to the hotel was easy.
The refugees were able to hold their position for another two days, until the jeeps and Mack trucks rolled, with troops armed with automatic weapons. These new troops gave Sam and the others a ride to their temporary home. Within a day, Rob and Sam were participating in discussions about expanding the boarders of the fortress to meet two other large groups they were communicating with via Ham radios. Between the three groups, there were over six hundred refugees.
Only a few days ago, there were about three hundred and fifty. Now there were about three hundred and forty.
They had come along way since they were hiding in boarded buildings talking to other groups by Ham radio, trying to organize an attack against the undead, but Sam feared it was not far enough. If Helen’s plan did not work, Sam wondered if the men and women back home would be able to fight an enemy like this cult.
If the shots came when Sam was still breathing, he supposed the best he could do was kill as many of the cultists as he could before one shot him. Sam’s company already gave the cult a bloody nose and black eye. At the very least, Sam could try to break an arm or leg.
“Up,” someone said from the other side of the bars.
The same three guards who escorted Sam to his shower and gave him his fresh uniform were standing outside of the cell. The guard with the gun still did all the talking. Sam hadn’t even heard their footsteps.
Sam did as instructed.
“Good,” the gunman said.
The small guard unlocked the cell door.
“Walk, out of the cell, nice and easy.”
Sam again did as instructed.
“Keep your hands up, where we can see them.”
Sam kept his hands up, and continued to walk out of the cell.
The smaller soldier stepped aside, and the larger guard pulled a strand of wire out of his pocket. They were going to bind Sam’s hands for the trial. Of course the fuckers were going to bind Sam’s hands together to make any attack or escape impossible. Sam wondered if the time to attack was now.
When Sam cleared the cell, the gunman said: “Hands out in front of you. Wrists together.”
This time, Sam punched the larger guard in the nose. There was a loud crack, and the guard grabbed his face, grunting. The gunman fired, and Sam pulled the injured guard in front of him as a human shield. The guard caught a pink feathered dart in the back, and stopped moving.
Sam dropped the doped guard and looked for the smaller guard.
The gunman fired another shot, but Sam ducked out of the way. When the dart whizzed by Sam’s head, he lunged for the gunman.
A fist caught Sam’s face mid-flight. The blow knocked Sam on his back. Sam propped himself up on his elbows and looked ahead. The gunman was watching with his rifle aimed downward. The smaller guard seemed to hover over Sam with his fists up and ready to strike. The bastard had one hell of a left hook.
“Come on
big man, you want a fight?” were the first words Sam heard out of the little
man’s mouth. He had a high pitched voice
and a
Sam got
up, and as soon as he was on his feet, the
Sam followed the momentum of the kick, and rolled on the floor. Without thinking, he tried to sweep the midget’s legs. The midget jumped. Sam rolled away, and jumped to his feet.
The
midget tried to kick again, but Sam grabbed the guard’s leg, and pushed
back. The guard was knocked off of his
feet. Without hesitation, the
What the hell? When did I end up in a Bruce Lee movie?
The guard held the nunchucks in both hands, waiting for Sam to make the first move. Sam lunged at the guard, hoping he could catch him off guard. Before Sam reached the guard, the nunchucks struck him in the top of his head. The swing was clumsy, but much better than Sam could have ever hoped to accomplish with the weapon. The blow was effective enough to nock Sam to the ground, and make his skull feel like it was going to explode.
The guard with the nunchucks was standing over Sam, ready to strike. The rifle clicked and the gunman was aiming the rifle at Sam.
“The messiah wants him in one piece for the trial,” the gunman said. “You gonna behave?”
Sam said nothing, the gunman kept his rifle aimed at Sam and the guard with the nunchucks was ready to strike. There was no way Sam was going to avoid this. The guards were going to bind Sam’s wrists whether he was awake or not, so he took one look at the large guard, who was still knocked out on the floor then looked at the man with the gun and nodded.
“Cuff the rat,” the gunman said.
*
The courtroom was a grand, white room, which consumed the entire fifth floor of the building Sam where was being held. The sixth floor had been carved into a large viewing chamber, which looked down upon the courtroom. The floor had been removed in several places so the booing crowds of onlookers above could watch and heckle Sam as he entered the courtroom with his hands bound in front of him. None of the hecklers threw anything. Where the ceiling had been cut away, a railing stood, so none of the hecklers would fall and hurt themselves. What a pity.
A mural
of a biblical scene painted on a round ceiling or maybe a scene similar to the
one depicted in the
A long table stretched half of the length of the wall across from where Sam entered. Sitting behind it were twelve men ranging from middle age to elderly. The elders were all wearing robes and headdresses that shared the same red, white, and gold color scheme. They reminded Sam of Cardinals or the Pope, whose hats were the same shape of those in front of Sam.
Next to a table a podium stood alone. There was no chair behind it, just a short railing in front. The podium was elevated a foot off of the floor by a large rectangular step, which was meant to make the speaker seem taller.
Another two tables stood three feet away from each other. Both had two chairs behind them, and faced the table of elders.
The room was a crude, but near perfect mockery of an old courthouse.
The gunman and the guard with the nunchucks escorted Sam past at least twenty rows of benches, which were filled with spectators, who were not nearly as bold as the hecklers above, for all the spectators on the bench were silent.
There were armed guards everywhere, watching Sam like he was Satan himself. Some of the guards peered out of the windows. Others were ushering people inside. Some were squawking into walkie-talkies. This was a big even, and Calhoun would want as many spectators as possible. He wanted to show his power to his followers. Calhoun wanted to show the cultists what happened to those who dared oppose the mighty messiah.
Mixed in with the regular troops, Sam saw the blood troops. There were six of them, watching Sam, and the crowd. One of them was the scar. Out of all the guards, the scar was the only one not afraid to look Sam in the eye. The blood soldiers seemed to be the best members of the cultist’s army. Maybe they were even the messiah’s personal body guards.
Sam wondered how the cultists would react to the messiah being shot dead by the Judas and a heathen. Especially Lennux, who made it clear during last night’s session that he wanted the godly power of Calhoun for himself. Lennux was nuttier than the whole bunch of psychos, and probably the most dangerous.
Speak of the devil, Sam though when he saw Randal Lennux standing in the far corner of the courtroom speaking into a walkie-talkie. When Sam’s gaze met the grizzly man, Lennux looked at Sam, but did not make eye contact. Then, Lennux quickly looked away, as if afraid Sam might turn him to stone with his glance.
The guards pushed Sam to the empty table on the right.
“Sit,” the gunman said.
Sam took his seat, but his two guards stood behind him.
The prosecutor’s table remained empty, but Sam figured the judge and prosecutor were one and the same.
It was about five minutes before Sam’s hunch was confirmed.
When Calhoun walked into the courtroom, the hecklers above fell silent. The messiah’s seemed to float across the room rather than walk.
The messiah wore a white garment, which was identical to the uniform he wore last night. Sam suspected that Calhoun’s closet was full of white shirts, white pants, white slippers, white robes, white capes, and white underwear. Picturing the messiah’s pristine uniform soaked in blood, Sam smiled.
All of the spectators, guards, and elders stood, so Sam did the same.
When the messiah reached the podium, he looked at the crowd of awe struck onlookers and said “you may be seated.”
All of the spectators, guards, and elders took their seats, so Sam sat down too.
“We are gathered here today in the Hall of Law to pass judgment on the heretic who sits before us. A man who dared attack us in the dead of night. A monster who has slain our brave and valiant warriors.”
So much for a fair and unbiased trial.
“Samuel Paterson, you are charged with the crimes of mass murder, assault, conspiracy to commit murder, corruption, and heresy. How do you plead?” Calhoun said.
Sam wanted to get the trial over with so he could be executed, when he noticed a huge window a few feet away from the podium. The window overlooked the brick wall of the abandoned building next door.
How about that?
“How do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” Sam said.
There was a window, which could give Helen a clean shot at Calhoun and now it was Sam’s duty to make sure that Helen had that chance for as long as possible.
The spectators gasped, and chattered among themselves.
“Silence. Quiet will you? Let’s hear the defendant’s side of the story,” Calhoun said in a calm voice. He had the manner and mocking tone of a bully teasing his victim on a schoolyard.
The courtroom hushed.
“You do realize the severity of the charges? If you repent of your sins, your fate will be a lot easier.”
“I have nothing to repent. And you are the one who will suffer in the afterlife.”
“We shall see.”
Calhoun’s eyes narrowed.
*
The trial
dragged on for over a half an hour. The
whole purpose was to get the prisoner to repent of his sins. Calhoun would not tire of the session until
he had broken his heretic. Lennux had
seen it many times before, and it was a stupid practice. If Calhoun really wanted to break a prisoner,
he would use public torture. But what
was the purpose in breaking a prisoner and not getting any information when it
was someone dangerous. And
Throughout the trial, witnesses were called to give testimony, including several of the troops under Lennux’s command who participated in last night’s capture, including Lennux himself. When Lennux was on the stand he quickly said yes and no to the right questions so he could hurry back to his post. If any intruders entered the compound, Lennux wanted to be the first to know.
Someone entered the courtroom. The latecomer was dressed in a black military uniform, and moved quietly along the back of the spectator stands as not to disturb the trial. When the guard moved closer, Lennux recognized him as one of his own.
He had managed to sneak a few of his less experienced dogs into the perimeter guard and it looked like the action might have actually paid off.
“Sir,” the guard whispered, “we spotted two intruders about a half an hour ago. They breached the compound on foot and entered the building over there through a fire escape.”
The guard pointed at the building.
“A half an hour ago?”
“Yes sir.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You know what is at stake.”
“I couldn’t get in until just now.”
Lennux was infuriated. Because of one guard’s incompetence, the two snakes were now burrowed in the building like fucking ticks. There was no telling how many traps the two could have set.
“Did you identify any of them?”
“Yes sir. One of them was the messiah’s chosen. I don’t know who the other was, he didn’t look too dangerous, about seventeen or eighteen, but they were armed to the teeth I tell you. They were carrying a large box of some kind.”
They were up against two kids. Such an attack would have sounded like a joke, had Lennux not known the little Judas bitch or seen the slaughter at the hands of the heathens. Not only was the bitch was a fully trained sniper, and a damn good one, but she was extensively trained in hand to hand combat, demolition, and strategy. She was weak in her combat planning, but she could improvise on the battlefield and she was resourceful as hell. There was no telling how dangerous her friend was.
Lennux controlled his anger, and thought of a viable solution. After all, he was going to need all the troops he could muster to catch the first wave of bullets. He would not take the heathens alive. If he could, he would have one more roll in the hay with the Judas bitch, then slash her throat like they should have done eleven years ago. And her accomplice would be shot on sight. There was no way Lennux would let himself be held hostage by another grenade wielding psychopath.
“Soldier, what’s your name?” Lennux asked.
“Garret, sir, Will Garret.”
The soldier seemed pleased that Lennux wanted to know his name.
“Good work. How would you like to lead the troops into the building?”
“I don’t think I can command all those troops…”
“I’ll be in charge, you’ll just lead them in. You’ll be my lieutenant, and I’ll take the rear so they can’t get out.”
“Oh okay, sure. Sure.”
The soldier’s eyes brightened like those of a puppy playing fetch. This was disgustingly easy.
“Garret, you just got yourself a promotion.”
“Thank you sir.”
Lennux grinned. The dog returned the smile.
“There should be about thirty guards posted around the perimeter of the compound, we’ll need to round them up before we can attack.”
“Yes sir,” the guard said and walked out of the courtroom with Lennux.
*
There was a trial underway in the courtroom. As she peered into the courtroom from the seventh story window of the abandoned building next door, Helen saw several witnesses take the stand and sit back down to give a flimsy testimony, but she did not have a clear view of Calhoun. Helen also couldn’t see who was on trial. The defendant could have been Sam, Zach, or both but at least on of them was still alive.
Most of the compound’s population was either crammed into the courtroom or gathered outside of the building. Most of the army was busy with crowd control, so getting into that building for a rescue would be next to impossible. But if Helen managed to kill the messiah, a rescue was just what she planned to attempt. Jack, Sam, and the others had come here for some kind of a cure and if it was here, Helen knew exactly where it was being kept: in Calhoun’s quarters in the executive building. If the messiah knew what he was sitting on, he would have either destroyed it or kept it with him incase he had some need for it later. A magical potion which kept chosen individuals from resurrecting as ghouls would come in handy for mass manipulation. Helen just hoped the messiah didn’t use it himself.
Jack stood watch next to the door. Helen wanted him in the same room as she stood, not only so he could watch for intruders, but because any troops who entered the building would not know where their query was. Since the courtroom was on the sixth floor, there were three floors in this building which could be used as effective points for a sniper attack.
Of course, there were only a few rooms on each floor that could effectively be used for any kind of attack so a search would not take long. Fighting a search party would be up to Jack until the shot was taken.
There was more movement in the courtroom as a witness left the stand, and another entered for more testimony.
Not long after the next testimony, the fifth story erupted with a thunderous explosion.
or