The Devil's Game

by Daniel Patterson

  James buckled his seatbelt and gripped the steering wheel. He sped through town, but there wasn’t a car in the world fast enough for him today. He slammed the accelerator to the floor.

  They rode in silence, two men on a holy mission to protect those who could not protect themselves. James was willing to die to protect the town of Harmony if need be. Branson pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. He was probably thinking the same thing.

  The woods grew thicker, and the houses were farther apart. They would be at the plant soon. James just hoped it would be soon enough.

  As they pulled into the cracked and patched parking lot, James slammed on the brakes to avoid colliding with a semi truck. Emblazoned across the side of the trailer was a logo:

  S’Wellness Get Well Soon!

  “Stop!” James yelled as he leaped from the car before it came to a complete stop. He ran toward the truck. “Stop!”

  He could see the driver, an older man in a baseball cap. He tried to wave him down, but the man didn’t appear to see him. The truck just kept going, and when Branson came huffing up to James’ side, he picked up a rock and threw it at the truck. It connected with a solid thunk, but the truck kept driving.

  “We’re too late,” Branson said, with tears in his eyes. The ten stall shipping dock was empty. “Looks like that was the last truck.”

  A wave of rage built inside James, but he pushed it down. Now was not the time for emotions and hurt pride. Now was the time to trust his fate to God and do what he could to fight evil. He turned to look at the old abandoned plant, but what he saw didn’t make any sense. Was it possible that he was hallucinating?

  Branson saw the puzzled look on James’ face and looked toward the factory.

  “What on earth . . . ?”

  It was Samuel. He was staggering toward the service entrance of the building carrying two large plastic jugs of gasoline in an eerie replay of his attempt to burn down James’s church just one day before.

  “I thought he was in the hospital?” James asked.

  “He was . . .” Branson said. “On police watch.”

  “Must not have been a very close watch.”

  “He’s not planning to burn down this building too, is he?”

  “Let’s hope not.” James tried to think fast. “Samuel!” he called out.

  Samuel turned, saw the two men, and tried to move faster.

  “Check the offices and make sure they’re empty,” James said. “I’ll try and stop him.”

  Branson nodded. “Be careful my friend,” he said and then jogged toward the main entrance of the building.

  The windows at the entrance of the tall, dust-colored building were tinted dark, and the door was ajar. If people were still inside Branson would help them escape.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  JAMES TURNED BACK TOWARD the service entrance, just in time to see Samuel duck inside the building. “Samuel! Stop!”

  Samuel ignored him and disappeared into the building.

  James ran toward the service entrance and hesitated just outside the door. He had to be cautious—after all, Simon could be inside. This could all just be a trap.

  He poked his head inside the door and called Samuel’s name again. It was dark and he could hear a scuffling sound and the whir of machinery. Gray metal control boxes lined the walls and a myriad of pipes and electrical conduit led from them, going up into the ceiling and down into the floor. It looked like the environmental controls and emergency generator were housed here, as well as a panel with the words Sprinkler Control Valve stenciled above it.

  He went deeper into the dark, narrow room and turned a corner. A puddle of water was spreading across the floor. He kept walking.

  “Samuel? I know you’re in here! I just want to help.”

  “You’re too late,” Samuel called from the end of a row of semi-opaque water tanks. That must be where the water had come from. Several of them were empty, but when James squinted at Samuel’s dark shape, he saw that the ones closest to the old man were full. It was then that the sharp smell of gasoline hit him in the face.

  “What are you doing here, Samuel?”

  “He thinks I don’t remember, but I do,” he muttered. He seemed confused, but not in a trance like he had been before. He finished pouring the gasoline into the tank. He held the jug far away from his body and was careful not to splash himself. “I’m going to stop him this time. I won’t let him hurt any more people.”

  “Slow down, Samuel. What’s going on here?”

  Samuel didn’t answer and walked into the main building through a maintenance door. James followed. On the other side of the door was a concrete hallway with wooden shelves full of cleaning supplies. Samuel picked up an old green duffel bag from one of the shelves and turned to James. “You can’t be here, Reverend. This isn’t your fight.”

  “I’m not leaving you Samuel. Not until you tell me what’s going on. How do you know about this place?” James followed Samuel, unsure of how to proceed. They reached a staircase and Samuel started up.

  “I work here. Just two days a week. Enough to keep me busy,” Samuel said, his breathing becoming more labored with each step. “I was working the day he showed up here. He tried to trick me into forgetting, but I’m old. I have systems in place to help me remember things. Knew he looked familiar but thought it was impossible. But then strange things started happening. He made me kill my best friend, Reverend. I know he did. He needs to be stopped.”

  They reached the door to the second floor. Samuel paused to catch his breath, with sweat pouring into his eyes and his face pale as a ghost. “It’s a virus he’s making. I heard him talking. I saw them working in the lab here. And I know what God wants me to do. It’s a good feeling, knowing what my purpose is, and that I’m so close to fulfilling it.” He nodded toward the stairs and started up the third flight.

  “I don’t understand Samuel, what is your purpose here? Are you going to burn the building down? Why would God want you to burn the building? What if there are innocent people trapped inside?” James was concerned about Samuel, but the old man seemed at peace with his mission, whatever it was.

  “Made sure everyone is out. I’ll show you where he keeps it, the virus. He’s planning on letting it out into the air. Get everyone sick. It’s been his plan all along.” He paused and panted heavily, holding the rail. “They call it the clean room, though what it holds is foul.” He started up the last few stairs to the third floor, moving slowly and painfully.

  “Samuel, you’re not looking too well—”

  “I’ve never been better, Reverend,” he said. And as they reached the third-floor landing, he turned to James and smiled. “Almost . . . there.”

  Despite his obvious physical discomfort, there was a light in Samuel’s eyes that James hadn’t ever seen before. What was God’s plan was for the retired veteran?

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  JAMES AND SAMUEL ENTERED the third floor into a bright white hallway lined on one side with glass windows. James saw a sign that read, Clean Room, Authorized Personnel Only above a thick-looking glass door.

  “I know the code. I’m going to reverse the pump that’s set to release the virus, and make it flow back into the clean room. Then I’ll set off my surprise.” He tapped the duffle bag he carried and chuckled. “But I got to do it fast, before he gets here.” His eyes darkened. “Once inside, I’ve planned my escape, but you need to leave now . . . Make sure people stay away from this building. Keep them far, far, away, Reverend. Can you do that for me?”

  Branson burst through the stairwell door and saw James and Samuel.

  “James!” He tried to catch his breath. “It’s Simon, he’s here!”

  In the split second when James looked away from Samuel, the crafty older man tapped a code into the keypad and entered the cleanroom. When James turned back toward him, the door sucked shut behind him.

  “Samuel, no! Don’t do this!” He pulled at the handle, but it was f
utile. The door was built to keep certain things out and other things in.

  Branson went into an office and dragged out a heavy wooden chair. He threw it against the door over and over, but the chair took more damage than the door.

  James watched helplessly as Samuel calmly lit an unfiltered cigarette and balanced it on a stack of papers on a desk in the cleanroom. Then he took what looked like a pipe bomb out of his duffle bag and fiddled with it for a moment. He put it back in the bag and set it down on the ground and headed toward a control panel on the wall, stumbling and sweating.

  “He’s reversing the airflow to release the virus into the clean room. Then he’s setting off a bomb,” James told Branson.

  “What was he doing with the gasoline?”

  “He replaced the water in the fire sprinkler tanks.”

  Branson’s eyes widened in panic, and he redoubled his efforts to open the door. “James, do you know what he’s done?”

  Samuel came to the door but didn’t open it. “I’ve got to reverse the flow!” He shouted, but they could only faintly hear him. “Get out now! I’ll follow once I’ve got the settings right. Keep everyone away. You’ve got about five minutes to get out of here, I suggest you start running!”

  Branson gripped his shoulder. “James, we’ve got to go, and we’ve got to go now!”

  “We can’t just leave him here.”

  “I’ve seen this before—in Kuwait. He’s created a makeshift air-fuel explosive. When that bomb goes off, igniting the gasoline, it’s going to create a massive fireball that will consume everything in its path. We need to go!”

  James picked up the chair Branson had been using and started pounding on the door. “We’ve got to get him out of there.”

  “James, it is no use. You’re not going to get in and he’s not coming out. Not until he does what he feels he needs to do.”

  James watched helplessly as Samuel continued working on the control panel. He seemed to be getting weaker by the moment, but determined to finish what he had started. In the glass door, James could see his own reflection and that of his friend and mentor standing beside him. “We’ve come all this way, Branson. God led us here for a reason. I honestly believe that. We can’t leave him here alone.”

  “He’s not alone. Maybe Samuel is right where God wants him to be. And maybe God brought us here to make sure Samuel got to where he needed to go.”

  James fought back the emotions that were coursing through his veins.

  “Samuel, look at me!” James screamed through the thick glass.

  The frail man stopped moving for a moment, went to the door, and stared directly into James’ eyes.

  “God is with you,” James mouthed to the piercing blue eyes that were just inches away. He wanted to say more—a prayer or other powerful words to give Samuel strength—

  “We’ve got to get out of here now, in case this hair-brained scheme doesn’t work!” Branson said, grabbing James by the arm and dragging him a few feet down the hallway.

  Half way to the staircase, both men started running, followed by a panicked descent down to the exit.

  Chapter Fifty

  SIMON WATCHED AS SAMUEL fumbled with the control panel. What did he think he was going to do?

  “Samuel, I see you,” he taunted.

  The old man was startled, and that pleased him.

  “Get behind me, Satan!” Samuel cried out. His stiff, arthritic fingers tried to turn the wheel that would reverse the flow of air in the clean room, flooding it with the virus in aerosol form.

  “I won’t get sick, Samuel. All this is for nothing. I saw your friends running away, the priests. They can’t help you now. I’m going to win, and you will have helped me ever so much. In fact, I couldn’t have done it without you.” His sinister laugh echoed pleasingly in the sealed room.

  “Lord help me, give me strength.”

  “Do you really think your God is going to help you now?”

  “I know He will. This is His plan. I am merely His instrument.”

  Samuel’s hands were weak, but he finally managed to turn the wheel that reversed the flow. A rush of super-cooled air began filling the room. The effort left him exhausted and he fell to the floor. His suffering made Simon laugh all the more as he approached the old man lying on the ground.

  The old man tried to get up and make his way to the exit, but Simon pushed him back down.

  “You’re old, and you’re weak. You can’t defeat me, you must know that!”

  He allowed Samuel to rise and stumble a few feet toward the door before he took two effortless steps and stood squarely in front of it to block his path. “You’re not leaving!”

  Samuel sank to his knees and clutched his chest.

  “You’re not looking so good old man. I’m going to enjoy watching you sicken yourself with my plague. I’ve never seen what such a large dose will do to someone, so thanks for that.”

  Samuel fought to stand again, but suddenly the blood drained from his face and his head began to shake just the tiniest bit. Simon watched as the old man had a heart attack. Samuel’s eyes rolled back into their sockets and he fought to keep his eyelids open. And suddenly, he was limp on the floor in front of Simon.

  Simon kicked the body halfheartedly. He knelt and took the old man’s withered wrist in his hand to check for a pulse. It was cold and clammy, but he was still alive.

  Barely.

  “You’re not as young as you used to be, Samuel.”

  A wisp of smoke rose from a stack of papers.

  As he turned to investigate, the sprinklers came on and the room filled with the smell of gasoline. The smoke stopped, and Simon saw the tiny glow disappear as the cigarette that had been left to burn winked out.

  Simon threw his head back and laughed. His mouth filled with gasoline, but he didn’t care. It tasted like death, and death was his constant companion.

  He laughed at the futility of Samuel’s final attempt to stop him. He had to admit, he hadn’t expected the old man to fill the water tanks with gasoline. That was clever. But the pipes still had a bit of water in them and that had been enough to extinguish the cigarette before it had a chance to ignite the gasoline.

  “You stupid old man. You thought you could beat me with a cigarette? A CIGARETTE!” He screamed down at Samuel, who lay prone on the floor, unmoving.

  Simon danced across the room, stomping and splashing in the growing puddles of gasoline. His toe touched something hard. It was a small green duffel bag. He gave it a kick and something skittered out onto the floor. Simon looked closer.

  A tiny digital clock, attached to a metal pipe, flashed red numbers at him.

  00:04 . . .

  00:03 . . .

  00:02 . . .

  “Noooo!” Simon howled.

  His cry was cut off by the massive explosion that sucked all the air from the room and blasted out all of the windows in the same millisecond.

  * * *

  James and Branson were nearly two miles away, but the force of the explosion was still enough to shatter the back and side windows of the Jetta.

  The explosion annihilated everything within five hundred yards of the site. Up to five miles away windows blew out of buildings. The ground shook in Oak Falls, about forty miles away and the sound of the explosion was heard in the next state.

  James and Branson were shaken up, but uninjured.

  “Do you think he made it out?” James asked, hopefully, as he shook cubes of glass from his hair.

  “I don’t think so, son. He may have tried, but I don’t think he had enough time. And I doubt anything could have survived that explosion, including the virus.”

  James said a silent prayer with a mixture of gratefulness and sadness in his heart.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  THEY HAD STOOD UP to the devil and the devil lost. So why didn’t James feel good about it?

  Well, possibly because sixteen people died. Died before he and his parishioners had gone door-to-door and offered to p
ray with those who were sick. Died before he and Branson were able to get the medication recalled and the delivery trucks stopped.

  They had done their best and sixteen people were dead.

  James sat in a corner booth at Ed’s Diner and took another sip of his coffee. Tomorrow was another day, as they say, and God help him if he wouldn’t be doing his best then too.

  An unusually early snow had started to fall. The world didn’t stop just because bad things happened to good people.

  Amy joined him and while they waited for their breakfast, he told her everything.

  Everything.

  About Daniel and Rick and the scopolamine . . .

  About St. Joseph, the town in Florida . . .

  About Charles Griffin, the former pastor of New Hope Church . . .

  About S’Wellnes and the H1N1 virus . . .

  He held nothing back.

  He explained that he believed Satan had taken the form of a man, calling himself Simon Paradis, and had walked around Harmony, causing all this mayhem.

  And then he explained how George, Branson’s friend from the CDC, said Samuel’s last minute heroics helped save millions of lives . . . but at the cost of his own.

  When he was finished, he waited for her to laugh at him, or look at him like he was crazy, to tell him she couldn’t possibly be with a religious nut like him.

  Instead, she reached over and took his hand. “I believe you,” she said. “And, I’m proud of you.”

  James sighed out the breath he’d been holding. He should never have hidden this truth from Amy. Not from her. He should have trusted her to believe him.

  She had become more than just his friend.

  She was his strength.

  “What if he’s still alive? What will you do if he comes back?” Amy asked.

  He leaned in closer to her across the table and took her hand in his. “I will depend on my best friend to know which wire to pull and believe that God will send her to me in time to pull it.”