Markus and Isabella attack the remaining horde and beat them into broken sacks. Josh tugs on the anchor line and eventually pulls it free from the bottom of the muck. Hana and Ben make progress, too. The four of them are now in the middle of the boat, pushing the seven or eight that are left to the front.
“Oh shit! Another puppet tower!” Ian screams.
Isabella looks to the back and sees another mass of bodies rising high on the canal edge. The top falls and a dozen more puppets rain onto the cockpit. The boat rocks. The momentum pushes them to the opposite side of the channel where they hit. Ian fights but has to leave the wheel. He runs to the middle.
Snarling dogs sprint over the edge of the canal and land on the back. Isabella steadies her breath, though the situation just got a lot worse. The dogs push through the puppets and approach, baring their teeth with roots hanging out of their eyes.
“Let’s get below,” Ian says. The settee has a ladder that leads to the center of the boat. Markus opens the hatch.
“No. We need to get them off our boat!” Isabella screams. She’s not gonna retreat and leave the topside full of fuckers. They’d be sitting ducks.
“This is our stand!” she screams. She reaches inside the hatch. There’s a small box hanging on the wall where she pulls out several handheld flares. Markus helps to light them and passes them out.
The dogs stop, and so do the other puppets. “Got your attention now?” Isabella waves the red fire at them, and they back up. Hana, Ben, and Ian clear off the front of the boat and get Tanis off the rope ladder. Markus and Isabella push all the fuckers to the back where the wheel is. They cower and screech at the flames.
The puppets on the edge of the canal stop, too. They’re thinking, she knows it. They’re trying to decide how to get the survivors. One of the dogs bolts toward Ian, but Ian jabs the flare into its face. It yelps and backs up toward the others. They crowd the steering wheel. Feel the fear, you fuckers!
Isabella advances on the horde, stopping next to the cabin. There’s a port window next to her. She sees movement. It’s Andy. He’s coming up top!
Andy swings open the cabin door. He’s staring at the horde and some vicious lookin’ dogs.
“What’s going on? Kat is barking and crying and scaring me!” he says.
“Get your ass below!” Isabella screams.
The group attacks in a bundle, fifteen of them and six dogs of different breeds. They surge forward. Andy is snatched off the ladder and pulled into the group.
“No!” Isabella drops the flare and swings the Beater. A dog leaps and bites into her arm. She falls back and grabs its throat. Her thumb pushes into its larynx as easily as into mud, and she snaps its neck. Its jaw slackens, but it’s still clawing at her so she throws it overboard.
Andy screams.
The kid!
“We need more fire!” Isabella yells. The puppets start to move closer, one step at a time. Bastards at the back seem to be protecting their catch.
She looks at Ben. “Pants, now!”
“No fucking way!” he argues.
“Pants or I throw you at them!”
“Andy!” Hana yells bashing the horde with her rake, but it’s doing no good. Her rake simply isn’t sharp or strong enough.
Ben slips off his pants. Isabella ties them around her Beater and lights them on fire. Ian takes the torch and starts to push them back again. The fire works, for now. The horde retreats all the way to the helm again, and Isabella can see Andy’s body. He’s lying at their feet, silent and still. Rage fills her. She wants to explode and become the Phoenix. She wants to eat them all, to fly that kid out of here, to a better place, but she thinks he’s already gone.
Isabella glances at Ian. Tears fill his eyes. He stops and closes them. She thinks she’s going to have to slap him across the face, but instead he snaps too, reaches down, grabs a line and pulls. “Which way is the wind?”
She holds up her bloody hand. The breeze tickles her skin. “Port.”
“Pull that mainsail halyard up as fast as you can. Hana, untie the main sail.”
Ben and Isabella grab the halyard as Hana unties the sail. They start to pull on the halyard hand over hand. The mainsail rises into the sky like a majestic flag. Ian grips the railing and so does the rest of them. The wind suddenly catches the fabric. It fills up and cracks with a sound like a whip. A line connected to the boom tightens, and the boom swings to port so fast she almost misses seeing it bash a couple of skulls. The boat rocks toward the middle of the canal and dumps the rest of the puppets and the dogs. Isabella leaps, slides in a pool of slick black blood, and grabs Andy’s shirt. The entire boat tips on its side before the wind spills out. As quick as they’d tipped over, the boat rights itself. Wind fills the sail once more and tips them over again.
“Pull the sail down!” Ian orders as he releases the line that is wrapped around the winch. Hana helps Ben pull down the sail, and the boat sits upright. Ian runs to the front and hits the throttle, and the boat speeds down the canal and away from the horde. They pass through the rest of the narrow channel while waving their flares at the crowd along the sides. They can’t touch them now, but they’re no doubt trying to figure out their next move.
Hana checks Andy’s pulse. He’s gone. The most innocent of them is gone. Hana looks destroyed.
Ben and Markus carry Rice below, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. Isabella is glad she’s out, but when she wakes up she’s going to fall apart all over again.
Josh and Tanis stand midship like statues of disbelief. What made Andy come up top?
After an ocean of silence and confusion the group assembles and help wrap up Andy’s body in a sheet patterned with floral designs. Blood soaks through it immediately. There’s nowhere else to put him. After some quiet debate, they tie up the sheet and slide his body overboard.
They all stand at the lifeline. Not a dry eye among them. Isabella cries for some kid she’d met only a week or so ago. He didn’t deserve this. None of them did. Not one of the millions of children deserved this fate. She will kill Zilla if she ever gets the chance. Her hands will break his neck just like that dog. Only she’ll make sure he feels every bone in his body snap before he croaks.
Isabella goes down the cabin ladder and passes through the kitchen into the dining area. Markus is the only one taking care of Rice’s extensive injuries now. Hana is in one of the rooms crying.
Isabella stops behind Markus. The wind whistles through the open port windows. Rice lies on the bench on the starboard side. Markus leans over her. Rice moans. Blood spills from her and soaks the makeshift bandages. Markus doesn’t hear Isabella approach.
“There were small white roots in the wound,” Markus tells Rice. “They have crawled inside you. You are infected now, but I can still save you.”
Rice doesn’t hear him. She’s dying, bleeding out. Markus pulls out a red syringe and injects it into her arm. “There, now you will recover. You’re saved.”
Isabella reaches out and grabs Markus’s arm. He drops the syringe. Worry stripes his face like he’s busted with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Where did you get that syringe?”
Chapter 1.34
Markus:
Algeria Goes Dark
The camels shuffle along in the sand slow but steady. After two days in the Sahara without food or water, Markus and Mitchell finally crest the last sandy hill and spy the secret CIA camp in Algeria. It almost seems like a mirage as he struggles to keep his eyes open and his back straight. He’d been watching the horizon for days, only having seen the shimmering, silver refractions. But this dark spot on the golden sand isn’t slipping away. He’s so relieved when an Apache helicopter roars over their heads. He wants to cry, fall to his knees, and thank the Lord. A Humvee tears through the sandy bluffs, filling the sky with plumes of dust. The massive vehicle stops a dozen yards away. Four soldiers armed with machine guns, leap from the vehicle and approach. The two raise their hands high and, when ordered, sl
owly lift their robes to show that they aren’t armed or wired to explode. Satisfied, the soldiers let them off the camels. Once Mitchell verifies that he is one of theirs, they get the gold treatment.
Markus falls into the back of a Humvee where the air conditioning is cranked up. He gulps the water they hand him and closes his dry eyes a moment. Mitchell and the driver chat away like schoolboys. Markus just thanks God a thousand times.
The CIA camp is mobile. It can be broken down into pods and airlifted to other locations. The walls are steel panels connected to thick rib-like girders all around the outside of the structure. It looks like a futuristic spaceport on a distant moon. Satellite dishes mounted on the roof are pointed in all directions. A two-story tower over the main command center has a lookout and a very large gun mounted in a turret.
The pods are connected in a circle like a doughnut, and the center of the circle is shaded by a tent. The windows are narrow and made of heavy-duty plastic. The door has rounded edges and an iris scanner.
The Humvee parks next to the base, and the Apache helicopter lands near a handful of tan Humvees. Markus and Mitchell are led into the base and out of the heat.
The interior is simple. The metal walkways are narrow, only three feet wide or so. There are rooms off the hall and only a few windows and a single, large command center with lots of TV screens.
Mitchell hands over the Stone of Allah and the red envelope.
Markus is able to take a hot shower and is given his own quarters, albeit very tight quarters with only a single bed, a mirror and one drawer. He calls his wife and leaves her a long voice message. She’ll be so glad to hear from him. He knows how she must have worried. After stuffing himself with food and water, he falls sleep.
For days he waits. He’s not allowed to see Mitchell, or anyone else for that matter. They record statements, deliver food, and take blood samples.
Markus tries two more times to get in touch with Marian. He’s worried about her. He can’t wait to see her. She’s in his dreams, on his mind constantly, and in his prayers. He hopes she’s not too mad at him.
Today, he’s told he gets to leave. Although he’s as sore as an Israelite after the Exodus, he’s in good spirits, excited even, so he pulls his old bones off the bed. They’re supposed to get a ride to a major airport somewhere in Europe. As he slips his shoes on an alarm splits his ears. It’s six o’clock in the morning. Red lights flash from the top corner of the room, and the yellow LED lights blink out. Down the hall there’s an army guard throwing up in the hallway. His skin is pale and almost blue. Mucus flows from his nose. He looks at Markus, eyes reddened and strained. Shouting from the other side of the base startles Markus so he runs down the hall. Mitchell emerges from a room, holding his stomach.
“What’s happening?” he shouts over the alarm.
“Get back to your room!” Mitchell orders through coughs. The whites of his eyes swirl with blood.
Markus runs back to his room and closes the thin door. He’s sweating more than he should be. He looks in the mirror noting how dark his skin looks, too dark. He sees red in his own eyes. There are more shouts. He hears an explosion. The base rocks like it was hit by an earthquake.
Markus hides himself in his quarters and vomits in the corner. There’s blood in the bile. Whatever is plaguing him is going to kill everyone. This is the Stone of Allah’s curse. Markus curls into a ball on the bed and covers his ears, trying to block out the alarm. He waits for hours. Finally, the siren goes off, but the light still flashes. He listens, but there are no more screams or shouting. His skull feels like it’s going to cave in. When he can’t take the pain anymore, he pulls himself off the bed and opens the door. The walls hold him up and guide him down the hall.
The command center is empty. There’s blood on the back of a chair and papers strewn on the floor. He slowly continues down the hallway, hand over hand, leaning heavily into the wall. The red light submerges the entire base in its blood-red reflections. His heart races and hurts, and his muscles are weak. There’s the phone booth. It’s the secure line he’s been using to leave Marian messages. He has to call her. This time, his cousin answers the phone.
“Where in God’s name are you, Markus? And you do not get to tell me you ain’t comin’ home.” She’s irate.
Markus’s head hurts, bad. He can hardly speak. “Where’s Marian?” he mumbles. Thick mucus rolls down his throat and he coughs.
“She’s dead, Markus! She was in an accident a week ago. It wasn’t any accident. Someone cut her brakes! Where the hell are you?”
Markus drops the phone and sinks to the floor. “God would not take my Marian away from me.” He’s spinning and in need some kind of medicine.
Markus struggle to his feet. The room next to him has four bunks with Men in each. Three look dead and the other is dying, choking on thick, yellow discharge oozing from his mouth and eyes. Every room Markus passes is filled with sick or dead people. The last room he stops at is a medical unit. There’s Mitchell on the table. Markus checks his pulse. He’s dead. The doctor lies on the floor next to him, also dead. Markus puts his hands on Mitchell’s chest and prays. Mitchell had become a good friend. He was the reason Markus was still alive.
“Thank you, brother, for saving my life,” he whispers. “I’ll never forget you.” The room spins. Markus kneels next to the doctor and throws up blood. If Marian really is gone, he’ll see her now. He feels closer to her than he has in weeks. “Here I come, my love. Here I come.”
He opens his tear-filled eyes and looks at the counter across the room. A light and magnifying glass are positioned over the Stone of Allah. It’s shimmering in the light. There’s a chip on the stone. Next to it lays a hammer and chisel. The light on the counter brightens. It fills the small room with a warm, white light.
Markus sees double. There are two stones and two lights. His heart skips beats. The light grows more intense, outshining everything else and turns blue. It grows from where the Stone of Allah is. It’s a brilliant blue amongst all the white. It gets brighter and brighter.
A deep vibration in his chest steadies his vision and makes his ribs tickle; the pain goes away. All the nausea leaves as well. Markus reaches out to the blue light that floats in front of him now. This is his time to meet God. He can smell a fragrance like incense. The blue light forms into a kind of orb. A burst of color and cool air pushes him off his knees and onto his butt. He blinks furiously so his tears won’t taint his vision.
A figure emerges from the orb. It’s wispy and fluctuating along with the vibration in his chest. It’s like looking through ripples in water at something under the surface. The shape focuses and blurs. It grows into a horse with pure white hair and sculpted muscles. Its mane is so long and silky it hangs nearly to the floor. The rider on top is a featureless shape, like a shadow, only white and surrounded by blue light. God. Markus is in the presence of the Almighty. The white horse kneels reverently. It flickers in and out of focus, and the sight makes Markus cry.
So much light he can barely keep his eyes open. He puts his hand on the table to pull himself up. He keeps his eyes on God as he stands and reaches out with his glowing white hand. A small white light rises and presses into Markus’s chest. The light clutches his heart and holds it still. So warm. The rest of his body feels cool and still. Warm blood begins filling Markus’s limbs with a feeling he can only describe as hope.
God finally speaks. His voice is deep and airy, solid yet gentle, “You are my White Warrior. A crown is placed on your head, son. With justice you will judge. Lead this world back into my body, for you are my White Warrior.” God’s hand withdraws and his horse stands. His image flickers in and out then looks to Mitchell.
“And he will be my sword. Together you will bring my children home, for there is a war in Heaven and I need their love returned.” A red syringe rolls across the floor and stops at Markus’s foot.
God leaves in that instant. Markus feels a moment of clarity, though the pain returns with m
uch violence. He injects half of its contents into his arm, turns and plunges the other half into Mitchell.
Chapter 1.35
Isabella:
Casting the First Stone
After the Pioneer was attacked by the tower of dead people, they’d wrapped Andy’s body in a sheet and slid it off the deck and to a watery burial. Isabella had gone below, beaten, tired and angry. But there was Markus saving Rice’s life with an injection from a red syringe; the same type of syringe she’d gotten when she launched the EMP rocket.
“How did you get that?” Isabella asks. “That’s not something you pick up at the corner drug store.” The boat rocks, and she grabs a wall handle to steady herself. She’s slick with black gunk, but doesn’t care. What she cares about is the moon-white eyes of the preacher before her who has contraband she didn’t think she’d ever see again in this new world.
Josh joins the two in the dining room, dripping black gunk from his makeshift armor and medical mask. She gives Josh a steely look. He freezes, afraid Isabella’s gonna attack him. A glob of brain matter rolls off his splattered medical mask. Markus puts the syringe into a medical pouch then tucks it into his pocket. He takes a deep breath. “I got the syringe and two others like it. They were mailed to me over two weeks ago along with a note. It said I was saved. That God loved me.”
“Why’d you get three of them?” Isabella asks. Her fist tightens.
Markus shrugs. He puts a hand on an unwounded part of Rice’s leg and holds it there. He takes a deep breath. “The note said they were from Zilla. I assumed I was meant to save some souls,” Markus answers.
Isabella doesn’t know what to think. Who else was given syringes? Who else was chosen to survive, and why?
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