by Brian Cotton
Chapter .25
“Who are you people, then?” a middle aged man with thinning hair asked.
“We are the real police.” Paxton said, he moved to the front. “The real protectors of this city.”
The congregation looked to have spent a lot of time turning this basement into a church. A large cross made of thick tree branches hung by the back wall. The floors were remodeled, the glossy wood shined from the lights above. There were ten people huddled down here, seven seniors, three middle aged. No one under the age of thirty gathered in this makeshift church. They were all dressed in their best clothing. Though, for some, their best wasn’t all that attractive. Most of the elderly wore old suits with holes and stains. Everyone grew silent upon Paxton’s approach. He moved his right arm over and pointed to the American flag patch. There were gasps then, for most a sigh of relief, but a few grew more fearful at the sight.
“They’ve found us? How?” an elderly man asked.
“Who is your leader?” Paxton asked.
“I am.” the man replied.
The aged man, with no hair left on his head, wore an all black suit with a white square over top his wrinkled throat. A cheap, weathered cane helped keep the man upright. He walked towards Paxton, his aged legs shook with each step. The shakes in his hands on the cane seemed to be in rhythm with his legs.
“How did you find us, my son?”
“What’s your name?” Paxton replied.
“Father Mark Francis.”
Paxton grabbed Francis by the shoulder, “Look, Father, we’re here to get you and your people to safety.”
“Take off the mask,” Francis said. “Let me see your face.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’re just going to have to trust me. Gather your flock. Tell them to go to the van out back.”
“Don’t trust him, Father!” one of the women called out. “How can you trust a man that won’t let you see his face?”
“Yeah,” a man chimed in. “We’ve heard about you people on television, you’re nothing but thugs.”
“Listen!” Paxton cried. “If you don’t trust us, then that’s fine. Let the USR deal with you. If you want to live, you’ll go outside into our van.”
“He’s right,” an old woman said. “We have to leave now.”
“Let us preach the gospel to the USR!” a middle aged man cried out. “That’s what God would want!”
“The USR,” Kilbourne said as he walked towards him, “doesn’t care about your god. They will torture you—make you denounce your faith—before they kill you.”
“If that’s God’s will then let it happen!”
Paxton sighed and shook his head. So much for a simple extraction, he thought the mere mention of the USR coming would scare these folks into escape. He should have known better, though. He remembered the churches at the beginning of the USR, how defiant they were. He once saw with his own two eyes a church burnt to the ground with the members still inside. Paxton had never been a religious man, the horrors of war stripped that from him, so he couldn’t bring himself to understand it. Was it out of sheer stupidity, hard headedness, or something even crazier like faith?
Paxton raised his hand. “Okay, we can try this the easy way, then. Whoever wants to stay, stay. Whoever wants to escape, escape. But, we must hurry, so if you are leaving with us, go up the stairs now.”
“You all should leave,” Francis said. “I’ll stay behind.”
“No, Father,” a elderly man pleaded. “I’ll stay with you.”
“You must go on, Fredrick, to spread the Word. I will stay and spread the gospel to our captors.”
“I’m staying,” Fredrick said. “I’ll teach them with you.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Paxton stated. “We’re leaving now.”
“Father,” the elderly woman said, “you take care. I’ll go on. We will build another church.”
“Everyone who’s leaving,” Kilbourne said. “Raise your right hand and follow us up the stairs.”
Seven of the worshippers raised their hand and followed the rebels up the stairs, Paxton in the lead. Kaspar stayed behind for a moment. Why didn’t the three save themselves? What good would it do to rot in prison before their execution? The three men stared back at him, Fredrick the only one without fear in his eyes. The Father stood straight, stiff as a board, unafraid to stand up for his faith. Francis motioned with his head for Kaspar to leave.
“You guys better hurry,” Clarke’s voice said through Kaspar’s ear piece. “They are about a mile away.”
“Move it!” Paxton shouted from upstairs. His PSD held high, the stock rested on his shoulder, he moved fast towards the back door. “Li, you see anything, yet?”
“No,” Li said through the ear piece. “But, I hear sirens from afar.”
“Okay, meet us in the back right now.”
They all burst through the back door. Paxton moved towards the van, lowered his gun, and then opened the double doors. The worshippers all took their seats on the benches, Krys and Li sat on the floor. It sure would be a tight fit, Kaspar thought to himself, he wondered what would happen next.
“They’re pulling in,” Clarke shouted. “Get out of their now!”
The sound of high pitched sirens came from the front of the house. Kaspar could hear the rumble of the tires over top the gravel driveway. He reached behind and slung the PSD over his chest. Visions of Mother’s dead eyes filled his mind. He looked down at the yellow piece. He knew what he had to do. He switched the safety off on the PSD then moved the latch to full auto.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Paxton yelled from the front of the van.
“Making things right,” Kaspar replied. “Maybe one of those men out there was involved…”
“Snap out of it!”
“You guys can leave,” Kaspar yanked back the slide next to the chamber. “I’m staying behind to preach a little gospel of my own.”
Kaspar moved towards the house, but Paxton’s strong hand formed a death grip on his left shoulder. He looked back and swung his left shoulder free. He moved forward once more and the death grip returned, this time with a clicking sound. Kaspar turned and stared into the barrel of a handgun.
“You’re coming with us,” Paxton ordered. “Or, maybe I should just kill you myself.”
The sirens ceased. The sound of the heavy vehicle doors slamming shut echoed in the night air. Clarke said something through the ear piece, but Kaspar paid no attention to it. Right now, Paxton had it, full and undivided. The Agents kicked in the front door and shouted inside.
“Would you really?” Kaspar asked.
“Care to find out?” Paxton replied. “Get in the van, now.”
Reason finally set in. Kaspar ran towards the opened double doors. He found himself a spot on the floor near the back before the doors slammed behind him. The engine roared to life as Paxton floored it towards the old dirt road near the back yard. Kaspar’s rear end jumped up and down from the bumps in the road, nearly matching his heart rate.
“What is wrong with you?” Krys demanded before she slapped Kaspar’s covered cheek.
“I was trying to save those people in the basement.” Kaspar replied.
“Sell that to someone else, cause I’m not buying it.”
“Don’t worry about it, then.”
“We will worry about it,” the elderly woman said. “You could’ve gotten us killed back there.”
“She’s right,” Li, the man who never spoke, said.
“Fine,” Kaspar said. “Then I apologize, whole heartedly.”
Kaspar could feel his body shift right along with the sharp turn. Clarke filled the ear piece with instructions for Paxton on what was going on. None of the Agents caught on to the fact that the resistance was just there. Nobody followed.
“You guys were lucky,” Clarke said. “And, when you get back, I need to give Ryan a piece of my mind.”
