by Hugo Huesca
“There’s no need to call him,” she went on, surprised to even need to clarify this. “The Prophet sees all that the flock sees. How could he protect us otherwise?”
“He’s never far,” Mark went on. The other two members of the CIL were behind him and Lisa. Mark had mentioned that the Prophet kept them out of the streets and I realized these two couldn’t speak English at all. They were following Mark and Lisa all the same.
“Just wait a bit longer,” Mark added.
I smiled. “Of course. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll wait.”
I turned around and ran for the exit.
Where’s the FBI?
Martinez had told me they needed some probable cause to get inside the CIL hideout, but this was getting ridiculous. They wanted to wait until someone shot me or tried to sacrifice me?
Well, if they wanted probable cause, they only needed to see what the CIL did to stop me from leaving. That was sure to do the trick, and was my new plan
But Lisa and the others didn’t follow me. I looked behind me and saw them standing there, with their shy smiles and perfectly-normal-expressions.
I reached for the door and opened it with a smooth motion. A black shadow floated in the middle of the street. It was almost the size of a bus, but smoother. A gust of wind sent waves of dust flying to my face.
“You don’t have to wait!” said Lisa, who was still behind me. “The Prophet is never far. He can reach it all with its black steed.”
“That’s a stealth helicopter,” I told her. My mouth was running on autopilot, pointing out the obvious to help me process it. “You can’t just buy one of those on the Internet.”
“Isn’t the Prophet great? You’re going to love meeting him! We all did.”
A floodlight shone out of the helicopter and pointed straight at me. The sudden brightness made me clench my fists and close my eyes. Startled like a bunny in the middle of the road.
Alright, that’s probable cause. Stealth helicopters are illegal. FBI, do your thing…
Instead of Doyle and Martinez charging in to save the day, a dark figure jumped out of the helicopter. More shadows followed. I could barely see their silhouettes against the floodlight. They were armed.
“Cole Dorsett!” the man at the front said. “You’re hard to find. I’m pleased you could make it to our appointment tonight.”
I exclaimed something obscene and tried to run away. The floodlight made it impossible to see. Someone heavy tackled me, and several pair of arms held me down an instant afterward.
“Secure him,” the man said. I managed to turn my head around and realized the people holding me included Lisa. She didn’t look normal anymore. Her expression was blank. As I looked at her, the others patted my entire body, searching for any hidden weapons.
“Lisa, what the fuck.”
“You’re going to love the Prophet,” she whispered with a monotone. “We all do.”
I turned my head towards the man’s figure and yelled: “Wait! The FBI is here. You have to let me go this instant or you’ll all—”
“Save your breath. The FBI indeed was here,” he interrupted me. He gave another gesture to the people next to him and one of them walked in my direction and rolled something in the floor towards me. It reached me and stopped against my chest. It was a little metal thing, black and charred against the white light.
It was the FBI surveillance drone.
“What can I say?” The man walked towards me until he was close enough for me to see. “I couldn’t let them get in the way of our little chat.”
The FBI had brought riot police with them, an entire team… Where were the reinforcements? The backup? The SWAT drones…
It was like the world stopped making sense all out of a sudden.
In the middle of it all, a small detail caught my attention. The Prophet wasn’t much older than me. He had tanned, golden skin, black hair that needed a trimming, deep eyebrows, and a strong jaw. His eyes were mere shadows, but his lips were curled in a cruel smile.
“You’re just a kid…” I whispered.
His smile faltered. Or perhaps it was my imagination. He turned to the people holding me down. “Load him in.”
I struggled as hard as I could, but it made no difference. It was like fighting against a mountain. Even Lisa’s hands were stronger than I expected.
“We have so much to talk about, Cole,” the Prophet told me as they picked me up like a bag of sand and carried me towards the helicopter. “Try to get comfortable. It’s going to be a long trip.”
I was so close to the helicopter now that closing my eyes did nothing to stop the floodlight from blinding me. My brain hurt like someone was electrocuting it. I tried to bite my captors, but my teeth found only hard leather and armored clothes.
I wanted to scream in frustration. To let panic settle in. But doing so would mean surrendering to the situation.
Instead, I tensed my entire body and waited (and hoped) for an opening.
“That’s better,” said the Prophet. “Don’t fight us, Cole. You came here of your own free will, didn’t you?”
I brought overwhelming support, I thought bitterly.
How had he taken them out?
There was no time to think. Something hit the stealth helicopter not far off from where I was being loaded.
“What’s that?” someone next to me asked.
I couldn’t see anything from the light, but I heard the distinct noise of a smoke grenade going off. A second later, I felt the heavy mix of dust and chemicals surround my skin and try to clog my throat. I coughed instinctively, but held my breath.
The people holding me down didn’t and took huge mouthfuls of smoke down their throats. A coughing fit got a hold of them and their hold on me faltered.
I hope there’s something non-lethal in this shit, I thought to myself. Mostly because I was going to breath it in either way.
The Prophet was the first to react. “We’re under attack, get to cover!”
There’s my backup. Finally!
I wasn’t going to wait like a kidnapped princess for my charming prince to come and get me. Instead, I kneed the guy who was holding my right leg square in the nose. It was a solid hit, totally unexpected. I couldn’t see him going down, but my leg was finally free.
Next step was to contort my body and put my back against the light, so I could see.
Lisa was the one holding my left arm. She tried to wrestle me to the ground, but the smoke was clogging her lungs and I was still holding my breath.
I kicked her torso as hard as I could manage. I mostly pushed her away more than did any real damage, but she let go of my arm. She gasped and coughed for air.
“What are you doing?” came the faint voice of the Prophet. “Load him! Take off! Don’t just stand there!”
I wasn’t going to wait and see if the CIL listened to its leader. I punched and kicked my way free of the last two guys holding me down and stumbled away from the helicopter.
Make a run for it, I told myself. My lungs burned from the lack of air, but the smoke was too thick to ignore. A part of my brain wished I had my power-suit on. The rest of my brain was high with adrenaline.
I caught a glimpse of the main avenue, far away from us. My only hope was to reach it.
I made a run for it.
“Shoot him,” called the Prophet, somewhere behind him. “Don’t aim for the head!”
They have assault rifles, I realized as I tried to run. I wasn’t going to make it. Not all of the CIL guys had been caught in the smoke. Some had listened to their Prophet and scrambled for cover. Those were pointing at me with nasty-looking rifles.
A shot from a modern assault rifle would turn my torso into mush. I wasn’t sure any doctor could bring me back from that. A bullet-proof vest wasn’t going to help at all against a high-caliber weapon; it was like wearing a napkin and hoping it would stop an axe.
Since I wasn’t going to reach the avenue in time, I automatically scanned th
e street and dove for the nearest cover. An instant later, high-caliber bullets tore through the air where I’d been standing, leaving bright paths in their wake. Tracer rounds.
My objective was the front of one of the hobby stores, which had a huge glass screen. I covered my head and neck with my arms and tried hard not to think of what glass could do to an artery.
I smashed against it. The screen curved. For a terrible instant I thought I was going to simply rebound against it. Then it broke down with a scream of broken glass.
I fell to the floor as bullets kept flying around me. The storefront behind me half-exploded with the impacts.
Don’t raise your head, I thought. And don’t think of the shard of glass you have sticking out of your leg.
It didn’t hurt at all. It barely registered with me. I must’ve landed against it as I fell.
The bullets were my main concern. The several rifles firing full-auto in my general direction were enough to transform the little store into a literal war zone. The noise was deafening. Shards of wood and concrete showered my face, some forcefully enough to draw blood.
I could see the tracer rounds hit the floor just a few feet away from me. Moving from where I was hiding would be suicide.
The shooting stopped, all at once. All I could hear was a buzz in my ears.
My entire body was shaking. Blood was pouring out of my leg in a constant stream.
Rylena had told me once that blood coming out of an artery looked different than one from a vein. Different color. Perhaps darker? It was important, but I could barely think.
Not even Rune could prepare me for something like this. I’d been shot at before, but this was different. I couldn’t even see the people shooting at me, and I couldn’t do anything to defend myself, only keep my head low and hope they all had sudden heart attacks.
Still, they weren’t shooting right now.
They can’t shoot you in the head, said a part of me that sounded remarkably like Walpurgis. The Prophet is probably screaming at them right now—not like you can hear him anyway. But you have to move, or they’ll simply move in and capture you again.
Perhaps getting captured would be better than getting shot. I took a peek outside.
The hooded silhouette of the Prophet was outlined against the floodlight of the helicopter. The smoke around him made him look like a demon from hell. He suddenly ducked and jumped inside.
Not everyone was shooting at me. The CIL were under attack, too. I could see (but not hear) the bullets take chunks out of the pavement where the Prophet had been standing. A tiny figure—Lisa—was crawling away, leaving a trail of blood on the pavement behind her.
A car swerved into the street from the avenue and came at us at full speed.
Several CIL guys ran towards the car—no, towards me.
Time to run away. You want to be inside the bullet-proof thingy.
Great assessment, thought my brain, patting itself on the back. Bullet-proof was good.
I tried to run, but the instant I put weight on my wounded leg, I fell down. Someone was screaming.
That’s you, asshole! Don’t you dare go into shock. Crawl your way to the car!
I did so, cursing myself like a madman with every slow, pathetic foot I managed over broken glass. My arms were bloody, too.
But you know what’s worse than crawling over broken glass? Getting shot. So I crawled. Out of the storefront, and into the street. The car was already waiting for me. The passenger door opened by itself. Bullets continued to ricochet off the surface, but it was all dented already.
I crawled inside with the last of my strength.
As soon as I was inside, it shifted to reverse and u-turned. I almost fell out with the brutal maneuvering.
For a brief second, the car was frozen in place, bullets flying in every direction. I looked out of the open door and saw the Prophet stumbling out of the helicopter, carrying a rifle.
He looked at me. His face was contorted with rage. I looked at him. I gave him the finger. The door closed and the car roared forward.
I fell against the recliner of my seat. My body was still shaking uncontrollably. Could a person die from an adrenaline overdose?
THAT WAS A CLOSE CALL BACK THERE said the car. BOY, WAS THAT CLOSE. HEY, I JUST WANT TO BE SURE—YOU’RE COLE DORSETT, RIGHT? IF YOU AREN’T, I’M AFRAID I’LL HAVE TO BRING YOU BACK.
“What the fuck,” I whispered, “is wrong with you—”
GREAT TO MEET YOU, COLE! said the drone. PLEASE TAKE A DEEP BREATH.
A brown gas stream came out of the board in front of me and hit me square in the face.
IT’S ONLY FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY. DON’T WORRY, ALMOST NO ONE DIES FROM COMPLICATIONS WITH SLEEP GAS. UNLESS YOU’RE ALLERGIC. ARE YOU ALLERGIC? OH, YOU’RE ALREADY SLEEPING. SILLY ME, TALKING TO MYSELF.
CHAPTER TEN
Rumors of my Demise...
I woke up in a badly lit garage. My mouth tasted like burnt oil, and my entire body felt sluggish.
Groaning all the while, I took a good look of my surroundings. The place was small and cramped and most of the space was used up by the dented car, a pile of boxes, and a table with power tools. A metallic curtain separated me from the rest of the world.
I was also tied to a chair.
“Just great,” I muttered. I faced the car. “I suppose you can’t untie me, can you, buddy?”
No response. A thick cable came out of the car and ran into a bulky battery. It was feeding time for the drone.
Whoever had brought me here had also saved my life. I could hope they intended to keep me alive for the time being, but there were other nasty things people could do to each other besides killing.
Let’s see what the damage is.
My arms were covered with cheap bandages. The skin underneath them was hot and bubbly, like someone had crushed effervescent pills directly on the wounds.
Medical paste, used to prevent infections, dull pain, and aid with healing. A nice little gift from my new captor.
My leg had a gel patch glued to the spot where the glass had stabbed me. The gel was supposed to stop hemorrhages until a real doctor had time to tend the wound. I’d seen it used mostly in movies and videogames, never on myself. It was cold. I could feel the gel slurped against the muscle.
Reinforced plastic handcuffs restrained my hands. They were cheap little things, but I wouldn’t be able to get free by breaking them. Reinforced plastic was sturdier than my own bones.
The weakest point of the setup was the chair. It was plastic and rusted metal, probably came with the rental garage. If push came to shove, perhaps I could break it and make an escape.
I didn’t have a lot of time to plan my daring escape, though, because a door opened by the wall behind the drone. An old man walked slowly towards me. His hair was more white than gray, and balding in some spots.
He was wearing dark blue overalls, blue gloves, and boots. Like a caricature of a futuristic ninja.
Or a guy who really wanted to blend in at night.
“So, you’re awake,” he pointed out. He grabbed another chair like mine and sat by the work-table, facing me. “I was beginning to wonder if I overdid the sleeping agent. You slept through noon, you know?”
The man’s face seemed melted on one side, like something was barely holding the skin in place. A stroke victim? The eye on that side was unfocused, unseeing.
It was the other side of his face that let me recognize him. I’d never forget that steely gaze that was the same when he talked to you or when he shot at you.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I told John Derry.
He smiled briefly, a crooked smile that half his face didn’t share. “I got better. I went to hell and only got this lousy limp as a memento.”
I tried to break out of the chair and jump at him, but the thing was sturdier than it looked.
“Let’s skip the raw anger, shall we, Dorsett?” Derry asked me. “We’ve work to do.”
“Work to do? You
killed my friend!”
The ex-CIA agent had the gall to shrug. “He got better, didn’t he? I didn’t bring you here to apologize to you, Dorsett. If killing you and all your friends would’ve kept the world from the mess it’s now in, I’d do it again.”
I managed to make the chair jump a foot with me on it and tried to head-butt the man who had single-handedly put me and my friends in the hospital. He blinked in surprise and moved his head backward just in time.
“Good attempt,” he told me. His hand curled into a punch and before I’d had time to process what was about to happen, my vision went dark like someone had suddenly turned off a computer screen.
I blacked out only for a second, though, because next thing I saw was Derry sitting back again.
“I saved your life,” he pointed out when I was sufficiently recovered. “The least you can do is stop screaming and trying to attack me for five minutes while you hear me out.”
“Fuck you.” I spat a bloody glob at his feet.
“That’s the spirit.”
I still had nightmares about John Derry’s rifle. Darren still had the scars. Derry had shot him in the stomach. Then in the back, at chest height.
And Derry was standing in front of me, like it hadn’t been that big of a deal. Like he was only a soldier following orders, and he had no responsibility for his actions. Like he was only a drone.
I was so angry I couldn’t even think of a fitting insult.
He shook his head and opened his mouth a bit before closing it. He thought for a second. “It was an ambush. Your meeting with the Church.”
“No shit.”
“They were waiting for the FBI,” he went on, ignoring me. “As soon as you were on your way to the CIL building, someone cut the comms. Then the agents were attacked. I presume it went badly for them.”
I felt a cold wave of dread. Agent Martinez and Doyle’s faces flashed in my mind. We had spent many months hating each other’s guts, but a bit in the way brothers do. Not really meaning it.
“Just like that? They’re a cult, not a mercenary corps,” I muttered. “Where did they get military equipment?”
