?AT THE CHAPEL?
The light diffused from an old chapel with the size of a Stave church, old in a sense that rhymed with abandonment. His eyes, as strained as they were, were beginning to adjust to the light. The chapel stood in the midst of a large, poor clearing where the population of Alligator grass and capeweed and carpetweed were all too discouraging, and with a splash of leguminous grasses here and there, the clearing looked like the remains of an old, long finished war. The grasses had been unattended to since forever. He had to push stinging strands of nettles out of his way as he staggered forward.
The chapel was made of very tattered bricks, some stripped of their colors, several others stripped of their positions on the construction. As he walked into the light's brilliancy, he realized it didn't hurt him. It didn't scare him. In fact, he felt peaceful, like a huge burden was removed from him. He forged forward. He was still weak, incredibly weak but his pain was lost in his feelings of reverie. A fairly large entrance made of concrete jutted out of the mist that swirled around the chapel. The edges of the entrance had been gobbled up by thistles and carpetweed that were simply intent on spreading. Erosion had pumped some of the concrete out of the ground and made the entrance feel like a fallen soldier, badly battered with age. It was absent of insects which didn't particularly strike Jake with as much as a thought. He heard their chirpings though and that was enough.
A statue of Christ on a cross was mounted on a pole that connected with the upper portion of the front of the chapel. As he looked up, he noticed that Christ's eyes owned that brilliant light that'd drawn him towards this probable safety. The eyes spurted a magnificent glow that spun reflections everywhere. It was a beautiful sight. He had to bend his eyes away from it to keep his senses intact. Beneath the statue, a label that was supposed to hold the name of the chapel hung but it was broken in two, one side larger than the other and whatever was printed on it had faded. The chapel's multicolored windows reflected the light. The inside of the chapel was black.
His body dropped in exhaustion. He was spent, sapped of that incredible energy he once had. The chapel was uninhabited, he was sure. He expected nobody to survive in a place like this? and then laughed. Here he was, hoping to last the night. He stared at the floor beneath him. It was missing his shadow. He remained on the floor. That felt very good, the cold running up his legs from the concrete, the heat pouring down on his head from the light. A white, metallic crucifix almost as long as his leg stood out in the centre of the entrance to the chapel. Its metal was rusting. It had very thin depth and sharp edges.
Jake sat there, safe, watching, his senses dulled by the poison inside of him. As he relaxed, he swam in memories of those who had been his family. One of them would've been happy at his find. T. Phillips. He used to be a Reverend. He'd preached to large crowds, he used to say. The man had been a firm believer in second chances. He believed there was a reason he had been turned. He always had hope for tomorrow.
"Search for it! Bring it out!" A voice bellowed.
He sat up. His eyes blinked till everything came into focus. What were those? Fires? Torches? Or fireflies?
Figures erupted into view. Hunters! They surged forward, holding weapons: pickaxes, rifles, axes, shotguns, sabers, and crossbows. They emerged from the clearing he'd passed through and made their way towards the chapel. Leading the line was the hunched, menacing, eager figure of Stan McCulley. He lifted a torch and a crossbow. Anger licked at his eyes. His black coat floated over the ankle length grasses. He was followed by the sheriff. Joey was behind them, immediately in front of about three dozen men.
Jake tried to stand. He had to escape but his body failed him. It wasn't the pain though. Something was pinning him down, bringing all of the weariness he had not felt before to the fore. He'd never been this vulnerable. The moon was a little more than a sickle now in the dark blue sky. He looked back. He still felt the light. What then had gone wrong? How had they decided to come to find him here? The light was still brilliant. However, none of the hunters seemed affected by it. They didn't as much as flinch before it. It was like it never existed. They loomed. They were plenty. And he was weak. He couldn't take one down even if he tried. His body wasn't responding to start with.
Now Big Stan was looking right at him, a wicked smile spread across his half-burnt face.
Hunted - Jake The Ripper Page 4
