by Sean Platt
No. He wouldn’t beg. Pleading would make it worse for Teagan and the children. Brent would leave life like a man.
Brent squeezed his eyes tight and prayed to himself. If he was going to beg, it would only be to a God who wasn’t likely to hear him.
Please, if You’re there, I’ll do anything You ask if You’ll only do something.
Nothing happened.
Brent opened his eyes to see Wyatt whispering into Marcus’s ear.
Smiling, the Reaper said, “Good point,” then turned to Teagan and Brent. “Good news. We have room for one of your children in the main house. You see, Fortune wasn’t so kind to our chef, Brother Bill. He’s lost his child, and Sister Liza’s been wanting another ever since. So … ” he cast his eyes between them. “Which will it be? Jack or Jill?”
Brent swallowed to keep from choking. He couldn’t believe it — a chance to keep one of the children alive. A chance that Ben might live.
And then, a horrible thought: maybe Ben would be better off dead.
Teagan stepped closer to Brent and touched his arm. “We can’t.” She shook her head. “You know what will happen.”
“I want to be with my dad,” Ben said. “You should go, Becca.”
The briefest glimmer of hope died inside Brent.
Teagan moved closer to the Reaper. “You’re not getting them.”
Marcus stepped closer to Teagan and breathed what had to be death’s stench into her face. “I must have given you the impression I was making a request.”
Marcus snarled like a dog, walked past Teagan, and grabbed Becca roughly by the arm. “Jill it is.”
Teagan lurched forward. Brent threw himself in front of her, wrapped his arms around her waist, then pulled Teagan toward him and held her tight.
“Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t … ”
Over and over, Brent whispered, hoping to calm her before she got shot. Teagan was silent for seconds, until Becca screamed.
“No!” she echoed.
This is it.
This is the end.
If You’re out there, our time is just about over.
Brent grabbed Teagan’s hand, then Ben’s. He pulled them both into a hug as Becca was dragged away screaming.
“Don’t look. Don’t look,” he whispered to them. “Just close your eyes.”
Teagan sobbed into Brent’s shoulder, squeezing his hand.
Ben squeezed tighter, crying. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you. Both of you.” Brent said to them both.
“Finish this,” Marcus said.
Brent closed his eyes.
Gunfire erupted.
* * * *
CHAPTER 8 — Teagan McLachlan
As they hugged, Teagan prayed to God to please save them.
Her body trembled as she heard Marcus give the order.
She hoped that Becca would be okay with them. Maybe they weren’t all rapists, after all. Marcus had seemed genuinely surprised at the accusations. But how could he not have known? Wilson had said it had been happening for at least the four months he’d been there. And anyone could’ve heard the screams in the container.
Was Marcus a liar? Was he that blind to what his people were doing? Or was he turning the other cheek to keep things moving?
Please, God, protect Becca from these evil people. Please.
Teagan turned from Brent, hoping to catch a final glimpse of her daughter.
Her eyes found Becca.
Then the air cracked with bullets.
But it wasn’t the firing squad.
Instincts took over, and she pushed Brent and Ben into the ditch.
They fell into the darkness.
Screams and gunfire erupted above.
Then silence.
Teagan’s heart raced as she and Brent traded glances.
Ben was shivering, holding tight to his father.
Footsteps above, approaching the pit.
Oh, God, please save us.
And then a voice.
“They’re dead.”
Marina!
Teagan and Brent stood up to see Marina standing above them, a rifle in her hands, a sword on her back, blood coating her from head to toe, like a ghost in the moonlight. She held Becca’s hand.
Thank you, Lord, for sending Marina back for us!
“Thank you for coming back,” Teagan cried as Becca jumped into the pit, “Mommy!”
Teagan hugged her harder than she’d ever hugged anyone ever. “Oh, thank God you’re okay!”
Teagan’s world was foggy, barely aware of Brent holding Ben, the both of them crying. Only Becca mattered.
Then she heard Brent ask, “Are you hurt?” as Marina helped Ben out of the pit.
“No, it’s their blood.”
They climbed out of the pit, and Marina pointed farther back in the field, about fifty yards away. “Come on. There’s a hole in the wall back there. We’ve gotta get out of here now. That big ox with the scar ran off. He’ll bring everyone in camp, if the gunfire doesn’t bring them first.”
Brent scooped Ben into his arms and stood. “What about the others, in the containers?”
“I killed a couple of bandits then opened the containers. We can’t be responsible beyond that. We’ve gotta go.”
A siren screamed, and dogs started howling.
“Now!” Marina yelled then ran toward the hole.
The four of them followed.
Barking dogs and yelling men drew closer. Flashlight beams bounced, probing the gloaming, searching.
Teagan and Brent kept running, each holding their children’s hands, until they reached the escape point. Brent pushed Ben through, then Becca. He held out a hand, ushering Teagan forward.
Light found her, froze her in place.
Someone yelled, “There they are!”
Gunshots hit the wall above Teagan.
Brent shoved her through the hole, “Go!”
She cried out as she fell through the hole and down a small slope. Brent was right behind her.
Just when she thought there was no way they’d get away from all those bandits and their dogs, she looked up and saw what God, through Marina, had provided, waiting in the clearing ahead.
Their horses.
They all mounted without a word, Becca in front of Teagan.
She held her daughter tight.
“Everything is going to be okay.” Teagan whispered into Becca’s ear. And for the first time in a long time, she believed it, as they raced through the woods toward the crumbled asphalt of the Pacific Coast Highway.
* * * *
CHAPTER 9 — Brent Foster
The trip back was quiet.
No one seemed willing to speak. Brent was grateful that Marina had come back to save them — he’d never really lost hope that she would — but was surprised to feel a fair amount of shame as well.
She hadn’t returned with Ed, Boricio, and Lisa. She hadn’t come back with that giant, Barrow. She’d come alone and done what Brent had never come close to being able to do — save his family.
She was like a zombie on her horse, practically catatonic. Yet still she’d galloped into Hell to be the hero Brent couldn’t be.
They took a zigzagging route to avoid running into Marcus and his men, in the likely event they were searching for them. Eventually, mist turned to rain, and hooves squished in mud rather than clomping on dirt, until they finally found themselves at the bottom of the hill and almost to the highway.
Brent said, “I don’t think we should travel PCH in the dark. There are a lot more bleakers closer to The City, and we’ll never see them.”
No one said they agreed or didn’t. Instead, they fell in line behind Brent, including Marina, as if they were all expecting him to lead them wherever they were supposed to go next.
A half mile or so later, Brent saw a steeple peeking out in the distance — a not-too-subtle reminder of the hell the world had become. With a view that stared out over the sea, the church had
surely once been beautiful, a natural sanctuary amid the receding forest behind it.
“We’ll have to take the horses inside.” Teagan’s voice was scratchy, her throat probably raw.
“Let me look around first.” Brent dismounted and headed toward the chapel entrance.
Marina spoke for the first time in miles. “I’m coming with you.”
Though emasculated, Brent was grateful for her company. Besides, he had no weapons.
His body was on high alert, nerves tingling as they crept through the shattered threshold. Pews were askew and in splinters. Stained glass confetti glittered the ground. Jesus lay in pieces.
Brent said, “It doesn’t look like this place has been used in forever.”
Marina deadpanned, “This place is dead.”
They cleared the chapel then ushered the horses and children inside.
“I haven’t had anything to drink since yesterday,” Becca whined.
Without a word, Marina unloaded supplies from a satchel on her mount: two apples, three sloshing canteens, and something that looked like dried meat in a brown bag. She handed an apple to each of the children and a canteen to Ben. “Share this with Becca.”
She handed meat to Teagan, then meat and water to Brent.
Brent sipped, handed the canteen to Teagan, and tore into the meat.
“Thanks.” The taste hit his tongue. “This is terrible.”
Chewing, Marina agreed. “Sure is.”
“What is it?” Teagan asked.
“I have no idea.” Marina shrugged. “I stole it from Hell.”
Ben said, “Maybe it’s monkey.”
“There aren’t any monkeys around here,” Becca said. “And besides, monkeys aren’t gross enough. It’s probably a dog.”
“Gross!” Ben laughed. “I bet it’s rat.”
“Ewww!” Becca giggled.
Brent felt slightly warmer, the children’s laughter telling him that they, and maybe everything else, might be okay.
“Thanks, Marina.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I never thought I’d hear them laugh … or anything … again.”
She flinched, shrugged Brent’s hand from her body, and nodded.
Away from the battlefield, Marina still had that hollow disposition. She refused their eyes and was stingy with syllables. Whatever hell she’d gone through — twice — to save them was undoing her mental state. He remembered when she first arrived, how she said she’d grown sick of fighting in The City. She needed a break from the unending violence.
Maybe this had pushed her over the edge.
He wasn’t sure how the hell he could make this right for her, or thank her enough, but he would find a way once things returned to normal. She’d given them their lives back. It was their debt to make sure she got hers back, somehow.
“Yeah, I don’t know what we’d have done without you. We were … ” Teagan choked. “Well, that was the end.”
“Did you happen to get a radio?” Brent asked.
Marina didn’t respond.
“Because the men took all our supplies,” he added.
With no expression, Marina stood, went to the horse, and pulled a radio from the other side of her saddlebag opposite the pouch where she’d pulled out the food.
“This is it,” she said, handing it to Brent. “I grabbed our supplies from one of their houses before I came to get you guys. You wanna do the honors?”
He smiled in disbelief. Finally.
Moments later, Brent had Keenan on the other side of the line.
His best friend left in the world, other than Teagan.
Everything was going to be fine.
“It’s Brent,” he said. “We lost The Farm.”
* * * *
CHAPTER 10 — Boricio Wolfe
Boricio couldn’t wait any longer. And it wasn’t just because Emily’s attempt to get into Luca’s head turned into the fucking Wizard of Oz. Radio Bob had failed to check in this morning.
Radio Bob was a man stationed in the belfry at the First Lutheran Church in Las Orillas — a sanctuary for any lost rebels to meet if they should need help or get separated from any of the four teams.
Every morning at seven, Bob would radio The City’s four rebel camps to let them know whether or not anyone had shown up. The system had been responsible for saving a few people, including Barrow a time or two when the big man had got separated on a mission. Boricio hoped to get a call that Mary had shown up this morning since she wasn’t answering her radio. She could have made it to The Farm, which would be Boricio’s next visit if she wasn’t here. But given how Luca woke up screaming her name, and the fact that her radio was silent, only made Boricio more convinced that something was wrong. And he wasn’t going to find her hiding in the basement of the Chandler House.
If Mary came around, like she usually did after a fight, she’d probably return to the warehouse. When she found nothing but bullets, she’d likely freak the fuck out and head to the church.
But when Bob didn’t call, or respond, Boricio got worried. It was too much for coincidence that both Mary and Bob stopped answering their radios, which only added to his reasons to head for the church.
Keenan and Lisa decided to accompany Boricio, just in case shit went down. They were his two best recon agents, able to get in and out of places without creating much of a clusterfuck — unlike the slightly clumsy, tank-like Barrow, who was staying behind with Jevonne and Jazz to look after Emily and Luca.
They left at a quarter past seven, on foot, keeping to side streets and alleyways so as not to attract attention from any bandits patrolling major roads in search of victims to plunder. They walked mostly in silence, commenting here and there on the low-hanging fog.
Boricio liked that Keenan and Lisa didn’t pollute his air with bullshit. They knew they had a job to do and fucking did it. Some of the others turned into The Fucking View after ten minutes. Boricio was an amiable fucker, and didn’t mind shooting the shit, but over the past couple of years, he’d learned to appreciate the quiet more than the assholes attempting to use the dictionary as a to-do list.
As they walked along a road in a neighborhood overrun with vegetation, he found himself wanting to chat. Boricio wasn’t sure if it was boredom or not being able to do diddly dick about Mary, but he wanted to stir some shit into sauce.
“Hey,” he said to Keenan or Lisa, whoever might be listening, “you two fuckin’ yet, or what?”
“What?” Lisa turned to Boricio, giving him her usual sour face. As crass as she was, the bitch was a prude when it came to bumping uglies.
“Well, I figured, you two spend a lot of time together, one thing leads to another, and before you know it Officer Keenan’s beating you with his nightstick.”
Keenan didn’t even look back.
Lisa rolled her eyes then turned her attention back to the road.
Boricio smiled. “I guess that’s a yes.”
After another minute of walking, Keenan finally ate the bait. “We’re out here looking for Mary, and checking on Radio Bob, and you want to ask if we’re fucking? Really?”
“Inquiring minds.”
Lisa turned, raised her middle finger, and smirked.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize I was walking with the Pope and Mother Teresa.”
Neither responded.
Now Boricio kinda wished he’d brought Barrow. That asshole was easy to rile. Especially when you fucked with him about his weight.
How come every other person is on the verge of starving in this alien apocalypse, and you’re still Hurley? You sure you’re not slipping away and eating people while out on runs?
And Barrow would attempt to give shit back to Boricio. But the guy was slow, and tended to say stupid crap that only made Boricio laugh harder. But it was all in good fun. Barrow didn’t mind you poking fun at him, and Boricio liked the big fucker well enough.
Now that Boricio felt like talking, Keenan and Lisa were a silent film walking. Next mission: Barrow and Lisa. Borici
o would instigate Barrow to make some joke about Lisa. She’d respond with a verbal beat-down. Barrow would shrink like a pussy. Good times.
Despite his need for distraction, Boricio was glad to be walking the apocalypse with the Boring Twins. If shit did hit the fan, they were the two motherfuckers, aside from Mary, he most wanted by his side.
Their radios crackled to life: Brent Foster, who’d been staying with Marina and the others at The Farm.
Keenan answered first.
“It’s Brent. We lost The Farm. We need to talk with you.”
“Lost The Farm?” Keenan said. “What happened?”
“Overrun with aliens. A few nights ago. I’ll tell you about it when we get there. We’re down to just five of us, and just got within radio range.”
“Shit.” Keenan swallowed. “Who’s left?”
“Me, Teagan, and the kids. Plus Marina.”
Keenan sighed. “What about Mary?”
“Mary?”
Boricio got on his radio and interrupted, “Yeah, Mary was headed to The Farm last night.”
“Well, we haven’t seen her,” Brent said. “We were a bit off path for a bit, but we’re sticking to the normal route now. We’ll let you know if we run into her.”
“Fuck!” Boricio yelled.
Brent said, “We’re coming in. Where are you now?”
“We’re staying with Beta Team at Station C 17,” he said, giving Brent the code for Chandler House. “We’ll meet you there once we’re back from our current job.”
They walked in silence for several blocks, no one remarking on the loss of more lives or what might have happened to Mary. No use dwelling on the maudlin. You had to shove that shit deep where it couldn’t get you, pick yourself up, and carry the fuck on.
After another few blocks, they saw the belfry and steeple come into view over the treetops through the fog.
The belfry’s stone walls and large wooden shutters concealed the bell and room, making it the perfect watchtower, and sniper’s nest, if necessary.
