by S T Branton
Deacon stopped short when he saw it. “Don’t touch that,” he commanded suddenly. “Put the lid back on and close the box.”
I gave him a look. “Relax. It’s probably cocaine or something.” The joke didn’t register on his face. “What is ricin even? Sounds made up.”
“It’s poison,” he said, still watching the tubes like a hawk. “Close that thing, Vic. I’m serious. That stuff makes cyanide look like a joke. A few grains of it will kill you.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Well, then.” The lid went back onto the box of poison, and I made sure it was tight. “Remind me to wash my hands.”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” he said.
“Well, shit.”
“I’ve never seen so much of it in one place,” Deacon said. “Usually, it’s wives using it to kill their husbands. That amount could waste an entire city.”
“Jim Jones’s wet dream,” I quipped, half smiling. Then the smile fell off my face. “Oh shit, Deacon.”
He had the same thought at the same time. “The feast,” he said, staring at me. “That nutty bastard wants us all to drink the Kool-Aid.”
“Fuck!” I jumped to my feet and turned to bolt for the door. “We have to get back and warn the others.” The eye of Deacon’s Maglite swung around to track me, but it stopped short.
“Oh, no,” the agent murmured. The second he said it, I saw what he was talking about. The general, flanked by a faction of goons, stood blocking our path. His wide, toothy grin gave off a mocking gleam.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he said. “Where do you think you’re running off to, my dear?” He motioned for his men to advance on both sides. They all had their fingers on the triggers of loaded guns. The closest thing to a weapon between Deacon and I was the flashlight in his hand. The General laughed. “That’s right, Vic. Your fancy sword was the only thing that got you this far, and you handed it over to me without so much as a question.”
I glared, looking him dead in the eye. Every cell in my body wanted to fight, to go apeshit on these assholes with the steadfast belief that things would work themselves out somehow. But I knew that without the sword, I stood no chance of protecting both myself and Deacon. Worse, if we died out there, no one would be able to stop this madman from poisoning everyone we’d promised to keep safe.
“Fine,” I said at last, forcing the word from my throat. “You win.” I raised my hands, palms out, to confirm that I was unarmed. A moment later, the Maglite went out as Deacon did the same.
The general let out another self-satisfied chortle that made me want to punch him in his stupid fucking face. “And to think I’d heard you were so unreasonable.” He gestured to his men. “Tie them up, boys. You know where to take the riffraff.” He watched as they twisted our arms behind our backs.
I never took my eyes off him. He never stopped smiling.
Chapter Twenty-Four
While the goon squad moved into position to take Deacon and me away, I geared myself up for the inevitable humiliation of being returned to the fort as captives. I wondered how long it would take the others to notice that we were gone and what crazy stunt they might try to pull to find us.
Maybe if we picked a fight as soon as we got back into the fort, we could jumpstart an impromptu rebellion. Then I remembered the conversation our team had recently had about how the survivors craved stability and safety above all else. As much as I hated to acknowledge it, there was a strong likelihood that my former allies would assume we were turncoats being justifiably punished. Or they would convince themselves that was the truth, anyway.
Still, I prepared myself ready to raise hell at the first opportunity, but the lackeys didn’t take us to the fort. They didn’t even take us outside. The biggest, burliest goon grabbed Deacon by his restraints and hauled him across the room to a door in the opposite corner that I hadn’t noticed. Someone else got behind me, shoving from behind.
“What, no blindfold?” I asked coolly. “I thought those were complimentary with every kidnapping.”
The general’s laugh boomed out like a clap of thunder. “Any other day, that wit might be enough to earn you mercy. You’re an exceptionally funny pain in my ass.” He sighed. “If you must know, it’s simple. There’s no blindfold because it doesn’t matter what you see. You’ll never have the opportunity to describe it to anyone else.” The door was oddly incongruous in comparison to the rest of the room as if it had been added later as an afterthought. It was shorter than the main entryway—Deacon, the general, and several of the goons had to duck down a little bit to get in. My own head barely cleared the top of the frame.
The stiflingly narrow passage beyond required single-file marching, and as the grade of the floor sloped increasingly downward, I began to smell a putrid, rotten stench. The goon prodding my back stopped to pull a mask up over his face. The farther down we went, the worse it got. By the time the corridor opened into a cave-like basement, the thick air was stinging my eyes.
The general stopped at the end of the chamber and turned to face us with the flair of a performer greeting his long-awaited audience. He spread his arms wide in the same magnanimous gesture he’d used when we first arrived. Now, it was a bad omen, no longer a sign of hope. “These are your new quarters,” he announced. “Like them? You’ll spend your last hours here until we’re ready for you in the main hall.”
“I know what you’re planning, General,” I said, locking my gaze onto his. The warmth had fled from his eyes but not the fire. He stared back, unblinking. “It’s too late. I saw the ricin.”
“Too late?” The man guffawed. I was sick of that sound. “My child, there is no possible way you could know the extent of my plans. I was adrift, directionless, lost in abyssal despair before the gods arrived. But, of course, you can’t comprehend what that’s like, can you?”
“Sure,” I said, through gritted teeth. “You were a loser. I get it.”
His façade of benevolent normalcy was in tatters. He barely looked like the same person. The rounded gut still bulged against his uniform, but his face had transformed into something lean and sharp. A hunter seconds before the kill.
“In a sense, you’re right,” he said. “I lost everything. My wife, my sons and daughters, my congregation. Being driven in disgrace out of the only life you’ve ever known—indeed, the only one you ever wanted—is a pain that is truly unique. No one cared that it was she who committed the original sin, as foretold by the book of our Lord. She got the house, the children, and all that I had built with my own two hands. The day she locked the door behind me was the day my life went up in smoke.”
I stole a glance at Deacon to make sure we’d heard the same insane drivel. He had long since given up the effort to maintain his stoic FBI-agent poker face. Now, he regarded the other man with a mix of open disbelief, anger, and pity. “Man,” he said. “What the fuck are you babbling about?”
That is my sentiment as well, Marcus chimed in. This man is clearly not in a hurry, but perhaps he should be for all our sakes.
“Save your breath,” the general said with a sneer. “I need not remind you that as long as you remain trussed up like turkeys in my own personal dungeon, I can do with you what I please. And truth be told, I want to savor this moment of total victory a little longer.” He began to pace back and forth in front of us, taking long, measured strides. Whenever he met a wall, he’d pivot precisely on his heel. “You see, I have waited for this moment since the gods rewrote my destiny.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wish they’d written you a shorter monologue.”
His face contorted into a disturbingly impish expression. It was almost like a mask, the skin capable of twisting into whatever grotesque caricature of humanity he chose. “Vic, my dear, don’t you see? You’re the one who’s slashed at the knees of the colossi.” He shook his head. “In a world as cruel and unthinkable as this, death is the greatest gift. The gods have come to grant us freedom from our wretched plane. I am simply a facilitator.”
/> “Sounds good,” I said. “But maybe start with yourself first.”
Deacon ignored my comment. “You’re sick,” he interjected. “That’s what you are. Look at you, a damn soldier! You swore an oath.”
“And that is where you’re wrong, my friend. You came to this place seeking soldiers to defend you.” The general stopped pacing. He backed into the shadows. A bare lightbulb flickered to life above him, dousing his sturdy physique in yellow light and revealing the mountainous blue tarps that lined the chamber. “I’m no soldier. I was a pastor, once upon a time. And I served God faithfully until He abandoned me. Those were dark days.” The terrible smile turned into a grimace. “All was lost. I could no longer see the light. But then, the truth arrived—the real gods, who showed me that I had only ever pretended to worship before.” He paused in his stride, directing his gaze upward. “Penitence was necessary, of course. And what better way to repent than to sacrifice in the way of the ancients?” The grin returned. “No, my boy. I am not a soldier.” He reached back, grasped the edge of a tarp, and whipped it up with a flourish. “These are your soldiers.”
The smell of decay became overbearing. I fought back my gag reflex. Deacon fell silent. His whole posture seethed with such palpable rage that I half expected the goons around him to keel over.
“There, there,” the General told him. “No need to look so upset. It would have been useless to make these men suffer. They died easily in their sleep.”
“How’d you get them to let you in?” I asked, stalling. The story he told was repulsive, but it gave me time to think.
He shrugged. “Like I said, I was a man of the cloth in my other life. Naturally, they assumed that the disciples I had gathered, others who had seen the light, were the remnants of my flock, and we deserved to be saved.” A shadow of something like sorrow passed briefly across his face. “If only they’d let us save them in return. We tried to bring them into the fold, but they resisted. They gave me no choice.”
“This is monstrous,” Deacon growled.
The crazed man paid him no mind. “After those poor fools were dead, we moved the bodies, put on their clothes, and sent out the safety signal. The only hitch in our perfect plan was that at first, nobody came. But now you’re here. You and your band of lost souls, seeking asylum from a world torn asunder.” A dreamy look descended on his lean features. “The gods could have freed you if you let them. Now, I will free you on their behalf.”
“So that’s why you got rid of Dan,” I said suddenly. “Because he would have known within a day that you were faking.” The revelation spawned a cold dread in my stomach. “Where is he? Dead?” Though the thought pained me, I kept my tone flat and unemotional. We were playing a power game, where weakness equaled defeat.
The general smirked. “Clever girl. No, they await their ultimate fate as you do, bound in a cell, surrounded by the corpses of their brethren. Why spill blood early when it could serve a greater purpose?”
I frowned. “What kind of purpose? You going to lead a modern Crusade? I hate to tell you, but those gods you venerate? They’re nothing more than monsters.”
“My sweet foolish child,” the general said almost kindly. He took his hat off and ran a hand over the top of his dome. “There is no difference between gods and monsters. None at all. You’ll see that soon enough.”
He knows not of what he speaks, Marcus declared. The loss of his human life has driven him to fill the void with unspeakable atrocities.
“Then why are you doing this?” I asked.
The general grimaced. “Because they are right about this forsaken world.” He spoke almost in a whisper. “It deserves to burn.” He stood motionless for a second or two, staring at empty air. Reeking pools of rancid blood coagulated at his feet. “The preparations were complete before you arrived. Something is on its way, full of power and inimitable grace.”
A flash of recognition seared through my mind. I saw Maya in the teepee and heard her voice.
Killer cats. Apex predators. At that moment, I knew for sure—we weren’t dealing with bobcats.
“I sense it as surely as I breathe the sweet air of redemption,” the madman continued. He closed his eyes, drank in the moment, and smiled serenely. “You are simply the final perfect touch.”
He strode past me, beckoning his henchmen to follow. We were left in the tomb of a cellar, alone, unarmed, and suffocating in an atmosphere of decay.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Deacon strained against his bindings with all his ability. His mouth was set in a hard line, and every time the ropes resisted his attempts to break free, he scowled. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. I had never seen him so close to losing his cool. “That fucking scumbag traitor,” he muttered, his voice dripping with venom.
“Hey,” I said. “Chill out for like two seconds. That crazy fucker will get what’s coming to him.”
“How can you know that for sure?” He had managed to get his arms partway from behind his back, but the knots at his wrists wouldn’t budge any farther. “Right now, it feels like he’s about to get off scot-free after murdering and impersonating the staff of an entire military base.”
“To hear him tell it, he gave them the gift of death,” I said. “He’s like a shitty Santa Claus.”
Deacon stopped struggling for a moment and looked at me. “That’s not funny.”
I sighed. “No, I suppose it’s not.” I nudged him gently, teasingly, hoping to calm him down so he could think straight. “You know, this kind of reminds me of the last time we were tied up together. Remember how much fun that was?”
He snorted. “Fun for you, maybe. As I recall, I was the only one tied up in that fleabag motel. And I was the only one without any clothes on.”
I smirked at the memory of his flabbergasted face the moment he’d realized I was really leaving him at the mercy of housekeeping. “That’s technically true, but I mean, I was there. It was still a joint activity.” I paused. “Besides, it was for your own good.”
“I would have begged to differ at the time,” he answered. Once more, he tugged futilely at the rope. “Dammit, where did they get this stuff? It barely has any give at all.”
“Relax,” I told him. “All you’re gonna do is give yourself some nasty rope burn. There are way better ways to do that.”
We were huddled up at a weird angle to each other, shoulder blade to shoulder blade. All his frustrated tension radiated into me like a slow-moving brick wall. For once, Deacon St. Clare was a ball of stress and nervous energy, and he couldn’t settle down to save his life. Every second we sat in that dark, nauseating dungeon, he kept trying to outsmart the rope somehow. With each consecutive unsuccessful strategy, I started to wonder if he might do more harm than good.
“Shit,” he muttered. “I need to get my hands—”
“Seriously, Deacon. Be cool. You’re going to cut your circulation off.” I laughed. “You can tell me if it bothers you to be this close to me.” I made a show of scooting half an inch in the opposite direction. “There, see? Don’t ever say I don’t know how to give you your personal space.”
Deacon twisted around to stare at me, evidently stunned into silence. Then he burst out laughing. “What the hell are you talking about, Vic?”
I shrugged. “Listen, here I was thinking we were finally getting some nice, quality bondage time—I mean, bonding time—and you’re trying to get away at the first opportunity. It’s a little hurtful. Can’t you take my emotions into consideration once in a while?” My straight face faltered in the middle of the last sentence, and we both cracked up. Deacon’s body relaxed against the ropes.
“Man, I don’t know how you do it.” He shook his head. “All this shit would probably have driven me out of my mind by now if I had to deal with it the way you do.”
I arched my brows at him. “Last I checked, you showed up to fights like everyone else. I’d say you’re dealing pretty efficiently.”
“There’s a difference between
shooting at them and having to be the one to track them down and figure out the current problem and how best to take care of business. Don’t get me wrong. That was part of my job too, and I like to think I was good at it, but the FBI used to deal with strictly human shit—at least the parts of the Bureau that I saw. Every single thing that’s happened since we broke out of there has been outside my wheelhouse.”
“Thank God I’m leading, then,” I replied.
“That’s kind of what I’m getting at. A federal agent has to be their own leader, in a way. You get handed a case, and you’re expected to solve it. Doesn’t matter if the file’s incomplete or if it’s been cold for twenty years already. Details like that are part of the challenge, and with such a burden of responsibility, it’s easy to lose yourself in the obsession.”
“Don’t lecture me, dude,” I interrupted, a little tersely. “Marcus still has that covered. I don’t need it in stereo.”
My lectures happen to be entertaining and informative. You are very welcome.
“That’s not what I mean.” Deacon smiled wryly. “It’s like, this time, I don’t have to worry about any of that because you somehow manage to handle everything. Even when the whole damn city’s either falling down or on fire and gods are descending from the sky. You held your shit together, and now…” He paused, frowning. “Well, now we’re here. Maybe this was a bad example.”
I grinned. “I can see how you might think that, but no, I’ve got something for this, too.”
“Really?” He looked skeptical. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Right on cue, the entrance to the dungeon, which the general’s men had closed and locked behind them, busted open. A trail of smoke curled up from the glowing red crater that used to be the lock. Brax filled the doorframe with his hammer braced in his hands.
“Feel free to start believing any time,” I said.
Deacon barely kept his jaw from dropping. He glanced between the two of us as the demon advanced into the room. Brax’s nostrils flared at the oppressive stench. “I knew something was fucked about this,” he muttered. He hurried close and made short work of our ropes.
