Mac interrupted the priest, his eyes staring at the just referenced abnormally long and disfigured fingers.
“And where is God in your suffering? If you have been forced to live your life in such pain, and to see all of those churches burned, and all of those people of faith persecuted by the globalists – why would God allow those things to happen?”
Father Riel looked back to the carved depiction of Christ’s suffering.
“Those examples are not of God. They are of us. We are responsible for them. God cannot provide absolute safety and security for the human race anymore than a parent can for a child. There are dangers inherent in all forms of existence. Is that not one of the fundamental evils of the New United Nations? It has empowered itself with the promise of removing the dangers of existence. Tell people they need not worry over security, for that security will be provided them. Those people then give up freedom and liberty for that false sense of security. God grants each of us choice. If society has chosen to forsake God, to forsake freedom, to forsake liberty – who are we to judge God for our own mistake?”
Mac sat silently, considering the priest’s words carefully, before finally whispering two brief words.
“I’m afraid.”
Father Riel placed his right hand on Mac’s shoulder.
“What do you fear, Mac?”
Mac’s eyes locked with those of the Christ statue.
“Dying. I don’t want it. Death. I don’t want to go through it. I don’t want to leave these people behind. Thought I was brave. Thought I would…shit it sounds so stupid when I say it…thought I’d go out in some big, guns-a-blazing moment of glory. The truth is, I’m scared shitless. My body is dying, and I don’t have control of that situation, and it pisses me off. And I’m afraid. I mean, really, really afraid right now. I think maybe that’s why I took this mission. If I’m being honest with myself, and I’m starting to realize I haven’t been honest for a while now…I took this mission because I was running away from dying. Some stupid part of me figured as long as I was doing what I was trained to do, my body wouldn’t give up. I’d keep living. I wouldn’t have to…to face my own death.”
The daylight coming through the chapel windows filled the room, rising up to illuminate the figure of Christ that hung from the wall. Father Riel gently squeezed Mac’s shoulder.
“Fear is part of being human, Mac. For as tough a life as you’ve led, for as many missions you have accomplished, in the end, you remain a human being – weak, fallible, and always capable of dying. And while you may not wish to hear me say it, I know in my heart, Mac, I feel it in every fiber of my being. Death is but a threshold across which you will walk. But you must be prepared to make that journey. You must be willing to accept that gift of life after life.”
Mac’s eyes remained looking upon the depiction of Jesus, as he silently noted a shadow moving across both the statue and the wall behind it. Turning his head to look toward the windows on the other side of the church, Mac found himself staring into the black eyes of a seeker, the space between them separated only by the thin layer of stained glass.
The creature’s mouth opened wide, erupting in a screeching howl, likely signaling others of its location, before crashing its head through the church window as it prepared to launch itself toward Mac and Father Riel.
LI.
The Great Consulate giggled as he watched through the seeker’s eyes the horror in the faces of the two men sitting inside the church as the seeker shattered the glass. In the corner of his killing room, the seeker the Great Consulate had strapped to the floor many days ago, sat looking back at him, making no sound or movement.
He was amazed at the clarity through which the sensory link transmitted the signal of the sights and sounds and smells being communicated directly from the seeker’s brain all the way from that pathetic outpost in Manitoba. Why the Dominatus survivors had made their way remained a mystery to the Great Consulate, but the chase to follow and find them had proven extremely entertaining, even if it came at some cost.
The seekers that had survived the attack against the moving train were pushed to the limits of their genetically enhanced physical capabilities to catch the traveling Dominatus interlopers. This required that during the hunt, some seekers attack and eat the weaker seekers in order to ensure the chase would continue. This killing of their own kind resulted in just ten seekers being left alive by the time the group reached Churchill.
Watching the two men scramble away from the window as his seeker plunged through it assured the Great Consulate that ten would be more than enough. They no longer were on the train, so escape on foot was impossible. The seekers were too fast, and were now motivated by starvation as well. They would kill the humans, and feast on their flesh. The Great Consulate licked his own cracked and diseased lips with a pus-filled, blackened tongue, anticipating the joy he would feel in sharing that experience inside of the seeker’s mind.
The Great Consulate watched as the much shorter and older of the two men pushed the other behind him, in some kind of silly attempt at protection. That taller man wore a long dark robe. Could he possibly be a priest? Did such things still exist? Oh, how marvelous it would be to watch, feel and taste the life of a priest bleeding out in front of him!
A metallic glint flashed from across the room. The older man carried a knife in his right hand, holding it out in front of him as he walked slowly backwards toward another door, still positioning himself between the seeker and the much taller, dark robed man.
Not wanting to give them yet another opportunity to escape, the seeker crouched low against the wooden floors of the chapel and opened its mouth to expose its many jagged teeth before propelling its body toward the humans, closing the gap between them in a mere half second. The seeker hit the chest of the shorter man, knocking him off his feet and allowing the creature to clamp its jaws over the human’s right shoulder. The seeker’s excitement grew as it heard the man scream out, though at the same time feeling repeated jabs of pain from its side. It was the knife the man held in his hand being plunged repeatedly into the seeker’s body.
Screeching its outrage, the seeker’s jaws bit down harder on the man’s shoulder. The talon-tipped fingers of its left hand dug into the human’s right forearm, ripping away the flesh, causing him to drop the knife. Feeling the man quickly getting weaker underneath him, the seeker opened its jaws again so it could close them over the human’s exposed neck.
The Great Consulate was lost in a wave of excitement and pleasure. He heard, felt and tasted everything the seeker did. He sensed how the creature was now preparing to rip out the man’s throat, a sensation that caused the Great Consulate to squeal with delight. This pleasure was soon replaced though by a crashing pain in his head as he found himself looking up at the church ceiling, a wave of confusion and fear overcoming the seeker.
The creature scrambled to regain its feet, hissing a warning against the incredibly tall human that stood over him waving some kind of stick – the same stick this same man had just used to bash the top of the seeker’s head. The man was tall, but the seeker sensed he was slow and struggling to maintain his balance.
Again the creature launched itself forward, its mouth closing on the tall man’s upper right thigh, ripping through the woolen cloth of his robe and finding the predictably soft and pliant human skin beneath. Already the tall man’s blood filled the seeker’s mouth as it hungrily ripped deeper into the flesh of his thigh.
The human fell to the floor, allowing the seeker to scramble onto his chest, digging its claws into the man’s arms to hold them down. Still clutching the large stick, the priest held it across his chest, using it as a protective barrier between the seeker’s snapping jaws and his own body.
Again and again the seeker closed its jaws over the stick, growing more enraged as its presence. Finally the man’s grip loosened, and the stick fell to the floor, eliciting a hungry and triumphant shriek from the seeker, a shriek cut short by the jaws of an attacking dog
as it bit into the seeker’s face.
The Great Consulate screamed in frustration and shared pain as he felt the dog’s long canine teeth plunge into the seeker’s chin and upper throat. Despite digging its claws into the dog’s exposed belly, the seeker was unable to free itself from the animal’s jaws. If anything, the dog’s efforts became even more determined as it shook its head violently from side to side, its teeth working more deeply into the seeker’s face and neck.
Finally the dog’s grip lessened just enough to allow the seeker to open its mouth and bite down onto the back of the animal’s neck while continuing to sink its claws more deeply into the dog’s soft underside.
The Great Consulate clapped his hands together as he felt the Doberman’s life force lessening, its belly ripped open, drenching the seeker in the animal’s blood. The dog was dead. The humans were next.
It felt so good to kill.
And then the world went dark…
LII.
Cooper Wyse cradled Brando against his chest, knowing the wounds the Doberman suffered during its battle with the seeker were beyond repair. His best friend was dying. The rancher made no sound, but simply held the dog’s head against his shoulder as he felt Brando’s breathing become increasingly shallow and sporadic.
One final exhalation of breath, and Brando’s body went limp as Cooper gently lay the dog back down onto the church floor, tears running from the corners of his eyes.
Just ten feet from where the rancher knelt was the seeker, knocked unconscious by a powerful blow to its skull from the priest’s staff. The rancher knew the creature yet lived because he could see blood still seeping from the wounds in its side put there by Mac’s knife. The monster’s heart still beat.
Standing up, Cooper unholstered the revolver from his right hip and pointed it down at the seeker’s head.
“No! Cooper…don’t kill it!”
Mac’s voice halted the rancher’s intent as he looked back toward the older man who remained lying on the floor, his breathing coming in a series of quick, short, rasps.
“That thing killed Brando, Mac. I’m not letting it live.”
Mac struggled to sit up, helped by both Reese and Dublin.
“I know that, Coop, but we need that seeker alive. It has a transmitter. Remember what they showed us in Wilfrid – the box thing at the back of its neck?”
Khalid looked down at Mac and then to the priest before running past Mac to lean down beside the injured seeker. He rolled the creature over onto its stomach and felt the area behind its neck where the unmistakable outline of a small square box marked the dark, mottled skin.
“This is a transmitter?”
Mac was slowly rising to his feet, the wound from the seeker’s bite having soaked the right side of his shirt in blood.
“Yeah. It’s just under the skin, at the base of the brain stem. It’s a transmitter and I’m pretty sure it sends information back to the main frame. These…things, their progress, location, it’s all being monitored. But if it’s dead, I don’t know if the transmitter still works. So…we have to keep it alive. For now.”
Dublin had turned her attention to helping the priest, whose bite wound on this thigh continued to produce an alarming amount of blood. Reese ran into the other room and then returned with several towels from the kitchen area, which Dublin proceeded to wrap tightly over the torn flesh of the priest’s leg, hoping to stem the bleeding.
Father Riel, though pale and sweating profusely from the attack and resulting wound to his leg, made certain to thank both Dublin and Reese for their help.
“I will be fine. The bleeding is already slowing. Thank you so much. Thank you. Please…see to Mac. He is in far worse condition than I am.”
Mac walked slowly toward the unconscious seeker, his left hand resting over the wound on his right shoulder.
“If that thing moves, bash its fucking head in.”
The Russian looked back at Mac and nodded.
“With pleasure.”
Khalid returned with the small wired box from yesterday and knelt beside the seeker, his hands again feeling around the outline at the back of the neck where the creature’s transmitter was to be located.
“I need to cut into it – have direct access to the device.”
Mac handed his knife to Bear with a trembling hand.
“You have to do it, Bear, I’m worried I’ll fall over.”
Bear took Mac’s knife and leaned over next to Khalid.
“Just tell me where.”
Khalid traced the area with his index finger, which Bear then followed with the knife, slicing through the seeker’s tough, leathery skin. Once the cut was completed, Khalid had Bear pull back the skin, revealing the creature’s transmitter.
The Saudi Muslim lowered his head to peer at the device, his eyes scanning over it in appreciation of its simple, but effective design.
“It’s appears to be integrated directly into the cerebellum. Some kind of neural communicator. It must take the neural signals and convert them into binary code which is then uploaded into the main frame, perhaps a form of synaptic integration. It’s a relatively simple device, but an ingenious application.”
“I could give a shit about all of that. Just tell us if it will work?”
Khalid paused as he considered Bear’s question, his eyes remaining fixated on the seeker’s transmitter.
“Yes, I think it’ll work. I’ll need some time to sync the two devices, but once that’s done, yes – I can upload the virus into the New United Nations’ mainframe.”
Mac placed a hand on Bear’s shoulder for support as he felt his knees wanting to buckle underneath him.
“How long, Khalid? How long do you need?”
Khalid looked up at Mac.
“I should be ready to upload within the hour, Mac.”
Mac Walker grunted softly and nodded his head.
“Good, I think I can keep breathing for at least that long. I want to hear confirmation this thing works. Before I die, I want to know we didn’t make this trip for nothing.”
Cooper Wyse slowly rose to his feet from where he had been cradling Brando on the church floor, and walked slowly to the window the seeker had broken through during its attack on Mac and the priest. His keen eyes narrowed as he looked out across the landscape and saw movement no more than a few hundred yards from the church entrance.
The remaining seekers were moving quickly, the sound of their shrieks signaling hungry and deadly intent.
LIII.
Cooper Wyse demanded to the others that he be the one to go outside and meet the seekers before they reached the church. Khalid needed more time to sync the system, and Cooper wanted to be the one to provide that time. He had six bullets remaining, three in each of his two revolvers. The Russian threw the rancher the shotgun as well, which housed just one more shell.
Reese had quickly done the math, and didn’t care for the odds.
“You don’t have enough ammo, Coop. You can’t kill them all.”
Cooper held up Mac’s knife that Bear had just handed him, and then slid the large blade in between his belt.
“There, now I’m good. Get out of my way Reese. I’m goin’ out there.”
Reese put his right hand firmly against the rancher’s chest, pushing back against him just enough to halt Cooper’s forward motion.
“We can all help, Coop. Why do you want to go out there by yourself?”
Cooper Wyse looked up from under the brim of his hat, his lip curling into a snarl as he hissed back at Reese between clenched teeth.
“If they get past me, it’s up to you to give Khalid the time he needs to upload the virus. Plus…they killed my dog. This is personal, Reese. I want to do this alone.”
Mac’s hand dropped onto Reese’s shoulder, pulling the younger man to the side and allowing Cooper access to the door.
“Let him go, Reese.”
Cooper pushed past Reese then paused as his hand rested on the door handle. The rancher l
ooked back at the body of Brando, his eyes closing tightly for a brief moment before he opened the door and looked out across the landscape at the quickly approaching seekers.
His face betrayed no emotion, but the rancher’s eyes shouted in thunder.
Tumultus Page 38
