Evil Origins: A Horror & Dark Fantasy Collection (64 page)

“Welcome, and may God be with you,” said one of the priests.

“And with you,” replied Father.

He made the sign of the cross and proceeded to bless those
in attendance. The other priests followed his lead and blessed themselves. Two
older priests parted to welcome Father into the discussion already in progress.

“Please, continue,” Father said.

“We cannot risk a messenger to the west side. The Infidels
may have already organized and they will certainly take aim at the Innerbelt,”
said one of the priests.

“Why? I think they are still reeling from the First
Cleansing and will have no interest in organizing Satan’s minions to cut us off
from our brethren on the west side,” said another.

“Servants of God,” said Father. “Pray to Him for guidance on
this strategy and He will provide the way.”

The conversation paused before Father resumed, his voice
rising.

“Let us focus on strengthening our church in preparation for
the Final Battle. Satan will not spare any life in fighting the return of the
Son.”

Many of the priests nodded in agreement. Father changed the
subject with another question.

“What is the status of John the Revelator?” he asked.

“How do we know—?”

Father interrupted the question.

“It is him, and I have reported that news to the Vatican. God
has told me it is him and the photograph proves it. Now what is his status?”

“Alex has been tending to his wounds. I am not sure if he is
awake yet,” replied a priest.

“Very well. I will descend to the parish hall and check the
situation. Sharpen the sword of the Warriors of Christ and do not be alarmed by
the wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

The others nodded their heads and began gesturing at the map
again.

Father strode past the table and to the steps leading to the
basement. He felt light in anticipation of meeting John the Revelator.

Chapter
11

The light brought scorching heat to her face. The bulb
pulsed inches from the edge of the bed. Jana opened her mouth to cry for help,
but mustered only a dry wheeze. She looked down at the dried blood covering her
legs. A flesh wound in the tender pink meat of Jana’s thigh pulsed with each
heartbeat. A sudden flash of memory forced Jana to squint and hold her hands
over her ears as the loud bursts rang out in the distorted replay. She managed
to kick the lamp to the right and lessen the pain on her eyes and forehead.

Jana struggled to her feet, doing her best to untangle from
the torn bedsheet. She fell into the bathroom off the master bedroom. A tired,
frightening face looked back at her in the mirror. She reached for a ponytail
holder and pulled her greasy hair back. Shards of glass stuck out of her chin. Jana
winced as she pulled them out. Using a washcloth, she cleaned the superficial
gunshot wound to her thigh. It ached and pulsed, but soon stopped bleeding. Jana
laughed through a grimace as she used tissues to wrap the wound. Her friends on
the floor would make fun of her if they could see her hasty triage.

She pulled a sweater over her head. Her jeans bulged at the
thigh where the makeshift bandage kept her wound from breaking open. She
reached deep into the medicine cabinet and downed two old pills.

A half-can of soda sat on the table next to the bed, one of
the only pieces of furniture not in disarray. Jana shook her head, trying to
knock the memories loose.

An earthquake, a storm?

She could not recall. Grabbing the can, Jana let the sugary
liquid run down her throat and felt a slight buzz from the caffeine. She pulled
a jacket from the closet, just as the light went out. At first, she thought the
bulb had died; but when she looked out the window, the entire street sat in
darkness. A distant boom, like eager thunder, rattled the old double-sash
windows.

She hobbled down the steps in the dark and stopped in the
kitchen. The table and chairs lay scattered, and long gashes revealed the inner
padding of the living-room furniture. A black mouth yawned at Jana where the
missing television once stood. She glanced around the room, anticipating
movement and hoping not to see it. Jana opened the fridge and finished the
leftovers from the Chinese restaurant she had visited with John the other
night. The cold lo mien unsettled her stomach, but she managed to hold it down
not knowing when the next meal would appear.

Bright headlights flooded her living room and Jana heard men
yelling outside. She crawled under the kitchen sink and pulled the cabinet door
shut with the towel rack. The old pipe stuck in her back, and the smell of dish
detergent and brown lettuce made her gag. Muffled sounds, a pause, and then a crash
broke the momentary silence. Beams of light scurried across the ceramic tile
floor as if chasing cockroaches. Jana took a breath through her mouth,
attempting to keep the odors from giving her away.

“Nothing on this level, sir.”

“Check upstairs.”

Jana heard one set of boots leave, while the other did not
move. The first man returned to the kitchen.

“Lots of blood, but nobody.”

“A body?”

“No sir, but they’ve lost a lot of blood. They either died
on the street or are bleeding out in a gutter somewhere.”

“And do you want to take the chance that even one Infidel
survives? Do you?” the man in charge screamed at the subordinate.

“No sir. I am a Warrior of Christ.”

“Then find her. We know she was the only one here. The head
of the First Cleansing reported one Jane Doe in the bedroom. Dead women don’t
walk. Find her.”

“Yes sir.”

Jana heard the man run out of the kitchen and back through
the living room, his boots cracking off the hardwood floor. She thought of the
time she and John spent sanding and staining the floor. She thought of all the
money and sweat they put into rehabbing the tired, old house. And then she
remembered the texts and pics.

How could he cheat with that whore?

The pair of boots remained after the other left. He opened
the fridge, and Jana heard a hiss and pop, and realized he’d opened one of
John’s Iron City beers. Her back throbbed from the pipe and her leg began to
twitch. Every muscle in her body screamed to be free of the dark, confined
space. The soldier chugged and discarded the beer with a careless toss. The
bottle of Iron City met the ceramic tile with a pop, sending shattered glass
flying everywhere. The boots moved toward the back door. Jana heard them clomp
down the steps and rattle off the asphalt driveway. She waited as long as she
could before coming out.

The dark house sighed except where the three kitchen windows
invited a bit of light from the gray sky. Jana knew she was alone, the
intruders convinced she was no longer there. Her aching thigh reminded her of
the wound she suffered earlier.

She recalled waving to John from the window, teasing him
with her naked body. She remembered lying back down on the bed, pushing her
face into his pillow, inhaling his scent. A few minutes after he left, it
sounded as if her house slid into the depths of hell. She recalled bellowing
footsteps coming toward her bedroom, leaving just enough time to draw the sheet
up to her chin. A flash of light, a loud crack, and that was all she could
remember.

Chapter
12

“Do you think he’ll survive, Alex?”

“He passed out. He’s not been shot in the head.”

The priest looked at the man that came to serve reluctantly.
Alex brought rudimentary medical skills that would have to serve until a real
doctor could be found.

“Can’t you do better than that?’

“I’m a vet, not a doctor.”

The priest rolled his eyes and did not press the matter
further. Alex considered them lucky to have his services, even if most of his
experience had been ridding dogs of fleas. He walked amongst the cots to check
on the Warriors injured during the First Cleansing.

Alex circled around to the man they had called John the
Revelator. He noticed the white band revealed by a missing wedding ring. A
small, wry chuckle rose in his throat as he realized the priests would not
notice the slight discoloration in skin. He felt a twinge of guilt for using
the narcotics on the man he believed to be named John, but he could not afford
to have him confront the priests before he had a chance to hear John’s story. The
drugs that Alex used on John would be wearing off soon. For John’s sake, Alex
hoped he would be on duty when John awoke.

He found a dry-cleaning tag in one of John’s pockets. Another
slight smile spread across his face as he hid the ticket in his own pocket. The
meaningless artifact of genteel daily living took him on a mental tangent. Then
he thought of his wife and children, and how they were subjected to the rites
of the “Holy Covenant”.

An old transistor radio hissed from the nearby windowsill of
one of the basement’s windows. Alex imagined a nun using the antenna to beat
the knuckles of a student for misspelling the word “catechism”. He was about to
shut it off when a human voice cut through the static.

“Sons of Liberty rise and toss the Covenant to the fire. They
are not doing God’s will.”

Alex froze. The phrase repeated, then disappeared. He looked
about at the soldiers on the cots as well as the two priests tending to them. Alex
held his breath, awaiting a reaction. He moved closer and turned the volume
down with a disguised motion. As if on cue, voices rematerialized from the mono
speaker.

“Hail the riff. You know where, Sons of Liberty. Get there
soon. Two horns up.”

Alex pretended to work on John the Revelator for another
thirty minutes, hoping the voice would return. It did not, so he memorized the
phrase. Writing it down could become too costly if the commander in charge
became overzealous with the body searches.

***

John slid one eye open, enough to get a blurred view through
an eyelash. If he could maintain the ruse of unconsciousness, he might have a
chance to escape. It would take about one minute of conversation before the
priests would see through his unintentional disguise. He thought about
confiding in the doctor, but hesitated. He needed more reassurance before
taking that risk.

The radio on the sill bleated intermittently throughout
John’s time on the cot. John could make out “liberty” and “to the fire”, but
nothing else.

***

“Don’t look at me. Keep working as you are,” John said in a
hushed voice. He kept his lips tight as he spoke.

“I thought you were coming around. Your muscle movement
betrayed you. Don’t worry, only a trained eye would see it.” Alex pulled the
surgical mask up over his mouth as he spoke, concealing the movement of his
jaw. “Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is John. I’m not the Revelator or whatever shit
they say I am. They think I’m a priest, and as soon as they realize I’m not,
I’m dead. So if you’re not going to help me, sound the alarm and end it now. I
have no desire to suffer more than I have to.”

“Calm down, you fucking hothead. If I was part of the
Covenant your ass would be hanging on a cross down in Public Square. My name is
Alex and you’re damn lucky your threads are legit. If they knew you stole
these, man, you’d be in a world of hurt. Ever heard of the Inquisition?”

“What’s that? A metal band?”

“Don’t be an asshole. I’m trying to help.”

“Wasn’t trying to be. Just wanted to lighten the mood a bit.
Yeah, I know the time. The Catholics in Spain did nasty shit to the Jews and
Muslims in the name of God.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, the Holy Covenant makes the
Inquisition look like the Geauga County Fair.”

“Rednecks and Amish sucking down flat beer and funnel cake?”

Alex muffled his laugh into a cough as one of the other
priests headed in his direction. John picked up on Alex’s body language and
shut both eyes.

“How is he doing?”

“Same as when you asked me five minutes ago,” Alex replied,
as he rolled his eyes and struggled to keep his balled fists from delivering
shots to the man’s face.

“You would be wise to hold your tongue, doctor.” The last
word slithered from his lips.

Alex watched the priest continue on his way toward the old
bingo board hanging in the back of the parish hall. For decades, parishioners
had gathered to smoke, gamble, and spread rumors, feet beneath the altar. The
priest walked up the handicapped ramp toward the ground floor of the church. The
other priest went to the far end of the cots and sat at a desk, his back to the
hall.

“Don’t move, John,” Alex said.

He pulled a syringe and flask of liquid from one of the bags
on the floor. With lightning speed, Alex injected the three soldiers closest to
John’s cot. He refilled the syringe and injected the others. The priest at the
desk continued flipping through paperwork, oblivious to what took place behind
him. Alex walked back to John and bent down so that he could look into his
face.

“They won’t be waking up again.”

“You killed them!”

“This is war, Gandhi. In case you haven’t figured it out
yet, those sons of bitches have been emptying clips on innocent civilians. Do
you want to live or not?”

John twitched, but did not move his head.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Then do exactly as I say or hang next to Jesus Christ
upstairs.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to slip Father Paperpusher over there a nice dose
of drugs. Should knock him out for a while and give me a chance to work. As
soon as I get to his desk, start taking off your clothes. I have no clue when
another priest might come down here and we don’t have time to spare.”

Alex walked past the soldiers that lay dying on the cot. The
lethal injection he used to euthanize animals would not be obvious to the
priests and he doubted anyone would be able to perform an autopsy. Alex heard
the priest sigh over an accounting error as he slid the needle full of horse
tranquilizer into the back of his neck. The priest froze and slid down into his
chair. Alex nudged him forward so that it appeared he had fallen asleep on the
desk, like an anxious college freshman the night before an exam.