The Dying of the Light (Book 3): Beginning

by Jason Kristopher

  Osiah frowned. “No, Your Grace, I’m not much of a reader.”

  “No matter. Einstein once said, ‘Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.’ Or, at least, words to that effect. Do you agree with that assertion, Brother? Take a moment to reflect.”

  Osiah did as asked and thought about what Einstein had said. It made sense to him: do the same thing over and over, and you’re going to come up with the same result. He nodded. “Yes, Your Grace, I agree with that.”

  “Then you can see where I’m going with this discussion, I think.”

  Osiah thought hard once more as he looked over at the infidel, then back up at Wright. “You… You’re saying that what we’ve been doing isn’t working.”

  Wright clasped his hands together and shook them in what some would call joy. “Exactly! And why not?”

  Osiah got excited after figuring out the puzzle. “Because we still have infidels and less of the Cleansed, and no matter how many of the one we seem to kill, there aren’t any more of the other.”

  “Well done!” Wright said with a smile. “So what does that tell you?”

  “That we need to change what we’re doing? Because if we keep going the way we are, nothing will change. If anything, it’ll get worse.”

  Wright nodded. “And again, well done, Brother. Now you see the epiphany that I had while ministering to this infidel.”

  “But, Your Grace, what can we do? How can we change?”

  “We stop killing them, for one thing. That helps no one.”

  Osiah started to object, then realized the reverend was right. “If we kill them, that only increases the number of infidels. The only way to save them, and ourselves, is to convert them.” Osiah sat back in the chair. “I… I’m not sure how to deal with this, Your Grace.”

  Wright sat back as well. “Now you are where I was ten minutes ago. But I know the first step.”

  “Your Grace?”

  Wright stood and motioned for Osiah to stand as well. Osiah watched as the reverend took a bottle of holy water from his desk and opened it, splashing some into a small bowl set for that purpose. The reverend muttered a prayer as he washed his hands in the bowl, then raised it in front of him as he turned to Osiah.

  “Brother Osiah is no more. He has ceased to serve the Church. In his place, I hereby anoint thee Deacon Osiah.” Osiah felt awe and wonder as the archbishop drew the sign of the cross on his forehead with his dripping fingers. Osiah closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of his own.

  “Your task as the Church’s first deacon is to spread the new gospel of our faith. The gospel of tolerance and forgiveness and redemption through conversion.” Wright looked him in the eyes, and Osiah felt that same stirring that he had all those years ago when he’d first joined the Church.

  “This will be a hard road,” Wright continued, “fraught with danger and mistrust and deceit. Your task will be the hardest you have ever been given, but should you succeed, you will be assured a place in Heaven.”

  Osiah swallowed hard and nodded. “I understand.”

  “Go now and spread the word. I will arrange for you a staff and supplies, but first you must visit the Temple and tell them what I have told you. Give them this so they will believe you.” Wright picked up a rolled paper tube from the desk and handed it to Osiah.

  The new deacon noticed the wax seal on the outside and felt relief. It was assured that they would believe him at Temple now.

  “I will not fail you, Your Grace. I will begin spreading the word right now.”

  Osiah bowed, kissed the ring of the archbishop, and left the office. As he passed the other guards, he nodded and ordered two to come with him. It wouldn’t do for the Church’s newest—and only—deacon to travel without guards, after all.

  Osiah had never felt more excited, more connected to his faith in his life. He couldn’t wait to get started.

  Coalition Command Center

  Des Moines International Airport, Des Moines, Iowa

  The medical tent was a flurry of activity, but Masters didn’t care. While he’d been off securing a ride for Mancuso and fighting zealots, his husband was fighting for his life. Masters would find out what was going on.

  As he approached the tent, he saw a nurse come outside, bent over and taking deep breaths as though she were trying to keep from passing out. He scraped his boots along the ground to make noise and avoid his usual method of greeting—scaring the crap out of people. She looked up.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  The young woman nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just haven’t seen anything like this for a long time. Since the training videos, really.”

  “You’re from a bunker,” Masters said as he hazarded a guess, based on her demeanor.

  She nodded as she stood straight, one hand on her stomach. “We’re trained to deal with battle casualties, but I was just getting started. I’m still not used to… well, this.”

  “How many wounded did we have?”

  “I’ve heard as many as a hundred and twenty, as few as forty. Given what I’ve seen, I think it’s closer to a hundred and twenty. Twice that dead. Easy.”

  “Can I ask you about a patient?”

  She looked at him and nodded. “I haven’t seen many yet, but I’ll tell you if I can.”

  “His name’s Thomas Reynolds. They said he’s here. He’s…” Masters hesitated. “He’s my husband.”

  To her credit, the woman didn’t blink, but her face crumpled as she looked at him. “I’m so sorry…”

  Masters felt like he’d been punched in the gut. His voice went toneless, robotic. “So he’s dead, then.”

  The woman wiped a tear from her eyes and shook her head. “No! No, not at all! I didn’t mean… He’s in bad shape, is all. They put him in a coma.”

  Masters felt his guts unclench a trifle and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “Can I see him?”

  The nurse nodded. “Of course, family always. Follow me.”

  Masters was on her heels as she weaved through the chaos inside the medical tent. They soon made it to a stretcher at the back, where Tom lay bandaged and trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey. The nurse spoke as they reached his bedside.

  “I don’t know the full details, but I’m told he was hit by a sniper as he coordinated the defense of some civilians. The shot took him in the lower abdomen and nearly severed his spinal cord. He… He may never walk again, and it’s touch and go until we can be sure we caught all the other damage. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  Masters was only half listening, holding his husband’s hand as the nurse continued. His Tom, his world. He should’ve been there to protect him. Should’ve been there to keep him safe. He’d failed, and Tom had paid the price. Instead of being by Tom’s side, Adrian had been escorting some spy.

  “Sir, there’s a call for you,” a voice at his side said, and Masters looked over. It was the private who’d been guarding the door to the brig, and Masters couldn’t help but see the coincidence in that. “You’ll need to take it in the command tent, sir,” the private continued.

  He turned to the nurse who’d been so kind to him. “What’s your name, Miss?”

  “Janet,” she said. “Janet Henderson.”

  “Well, Janet, as the ranking commander on this base, I order you not to leave his side. You’ll see that he gets whatever he needs, no exceptions. Understood?”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

  “Good. Seems as though I’ve got somewhere to be.” He moved to follow the private, then turned back. “Oh, and one more thing.”

  “Sir?”

  “Schedule us both for the first airlift out to Bunker Seven. He and I will be on that plane. Anyone has a problem with that, you tell them to talk to me. To talk to Captain Masters.”

  Janet nodded again. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  A short Humvee ride later, Masters was standing in front of a monitor with lots of faces on it that he
couldn’t care less about. One of them was the president of the United States, or so they said. It made no difference to Adrian.

  “Reporting as ordered, sir. With respect, if we could make this fast…”

  The president nodded. “I’ll be brief, Captain. Summarize the situation for us.”

  “We were attacked shortly after dawn by members of the Church of the Divine Judgment. I don’t have exact figures at the moment, but casualties are a hundred or more, not including civilians. We lost well over a hundred of them too, sir. Kidnapped or killed, no way to know. We routed the enemy, and they fled. Our Hunters tracked them to their camp and found it destroyed. Early evidence suggests an attack from above, most likely helicopters, sir.”

  “Did we deploy helos in this op, Captain?”

  “No, sir, we did not. We’re not sure who did it, but I’m not going to fuss about it. We’ve got other concerns at the moment.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about Captain Reynolds. I’m sorry to hear about his condition, son. He’ll have the best care, I promise.”

  “Again, with respect, sir, I’ve already seen to it.”

  The president grinned and shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Masters.”

  “I’ve heard that, sir.”

  “As well it should. Is there anything you need from me?”

  “No, sir, but I do have a confidential report.”

  “I understand.”

  Masters turned to the personnel in the tent. “Clear the room. Eyes only, black level.” Everyone stood and left the room. The last man out sealed the flaps of the tent, and Masters was alone.

  “We’ve cleared the room here as well, Captain. Let’s have it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Masters took a deep breath. “Our secondary mission was successful. Our secondary asset was picked up, and we believe he was removed to another location. Forensic evaluation of the scene at the Church camp found no remains or evidence of his death.”

  “So he’s in,” one of the men said. Masters had never bothered to find out the names of the governors other than his own, and he wasn’t about to start now.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “We did our best here, sirs. The rest is up to him and the primary asset.”

  “You’ve done very well, Captain,” the president said. “I assume from your earlier comment you’ve already secured transport to Bunker Seven?”

  “Yes, Mr. President, I have.”

  “Then I’d suggest you get going.”

  “Sir, if I may,” his own governor, David Blake, said.

  “Oh, of course, Mr. Blake.”

  “Captain…”

  “She’s fine, sir,” Adrian said as he anticipated his governor’s question. He’d known the man long enough, after all. “Eden is organizing the flights for the rest of the refugees. Word is, she saved about a hundred of them herself with a small team, sir.”

  “Really?” David said, the pride evident in his voice.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” the president said.

  “You’re welcome, sirs, ma’am,” he said, looking at Kimberly, who nodded back at him in thanks.

  “Son, that plane is being fueled as we speak. It’s time you and Captain Reynolds were on it. And Mr. Masters…”

  Adrian stood at attention. “Yes, Mr. President?”

  “Very well done, son. Very well done indeed.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll tell Tom you said so.”

  Headquarters

  First Church of the Divine Judgment

  Johnny Barnes smiled as Osiah left. Wright collapsed back into the chair, red-faced but in too much pain to protest as Barnes took his usual perch on the front of the desk. Mancuso joined him and both looked down at the man who had caused so much pain and death.

  Johnny looked at the small syringe in his hand as he turned it in the light. The darker flecks in the deep crimson of the fluid gave it a disgusting appearance, and he shuddered at the thought of what it represented. And it had taken all his willpower not to use it.

  “You will see that my family is protected now, won’t you? That they will not be harmed?” Wright pleaded as he tried and failed not to stare at the vial.

  “As agreed, Reverend, we will insure your family is safe from any reprisal,” Barnes said. “In fact, they’ll probably thank us for rescuing them from you. I know how you treat Sasha and Peter, after all. And little Elizabeth.” His tone became more menacing. “In fact, knowing what I know, I should inject you with this anyway.”

  “Please! No! I—”

  “What’s the matter, Reverend?” Barnes asked as he waved the syringe toward Wright. “I thought you’d love to become one of the Seraphim, as you call them.”

  “Seraphim?” Mancuso grunted.

  Barnes looked over at him. “We call them Driebachs.”

  “Ah.”

  “It would be an—an hon—an honor to be one of the Seraphim,” Wright stuttered. “But I find that I am not quite worthy. I would need years—decades even—to prepare. And I confess to some curiosity as to where you procured that.”

  “So much for your martyrdom, then, ‘believer,’” Barnes said with a snort. “Why, from your own facilities, of course! Your people were just about to start turning them out by the handful. Or didn’t you know? I put an end to it, of course.” Barnes shook his head as he dropped the vial into the garbage can. “Can’t have you folks manufacturing another Z-Day, can we? Still, I kept one sample, just in case.”

  Mancuso coughed, and Barnes let him talk.

  “Great speech there, Reverend,” Mancuso said. “I could almost see myself following the beliefs of a church like that. Osiah and his people will still have a lot to make up for, though.” He leaned down to put his face in the Reverend’s. “Wanna tell me what that last bit was all about? Who’s Azariah? Should we hunt down the deacon?”

  “You shall burn in Hell forever, infidel,” Wright said through gritted teeth. “They will never accept the new teachings.”

  Barnes glanced over at Mancuso and grinned. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, old son.”

  Wright blanched. “What new trickery have you to surprise me with?”

  “Nothing new, technically. But you didn’t think I was the only spy in your ranks, did you?”

  “You… You cowards! How dare you spy on the Church! I’ll have you—oof!”

  Barnes was tired of listening to the man and kicked him so hard in the chest, the chair fell over backward. He glanced over at Mancuso again. “Think I might’ve cracked a rib with that one.”

  “It’s the least he deserves. He’ll get no pity from me.”

  Barnes snorted, then picked the chair up and set it straight with Wright still in it.

  “What now, infidels? Torture? Death?”

  “No and yes,” Barnes said. “Your cult is dead or will be soon enough once your boy Osiah starts spreading the new word of the Church.”

  Wright scowled but remained silent.

  “And you, well, you’re not going to go easily or quickly, I’m afraid. You’ve caused too much death for that.”

  All three men were surprised when the door opened and Wright’s secretary entered. The tall brunette with the most piercing blue eyes Barnes had ever seen walked in already talking.

  “I thought we might have a moment to ourselves before your three o’cl—” She stopped, shock evident on her face. Barnes knew the only reason she would walk in without knocking was if she thought the reverend was alone in his office. Barnes knew about their “romance,” of course, and had from the beginning.

  Her hesitation was all the time Barnes needed to make it to her. He kicked the door shut with his foot and clamped a large hand over her nose and mouth. Predictably, she screamed and thrashed in his grip as he lifted her off her feet and carried her over to the desk and the empty visitor’s chair.

  “Calm down!” Barnes said and squeezed tight enough to make her groan. “Quiet!”

  S
he nodded and went silent, not struggling.

  Barnes sighed. “I wish you hadn’t seen this, Jordana. It’s a shame.”

  “We can’t leave her here,” Mancuso said, pointing the pistol he’d gotten from Barnes at the side of her head.

  “I know that! You’re the one that didn’t bother to lock the fucking door! Give me a minute to think.” He shrugged Mancuso off, then shook his head. “Jordana, I’m going to take my hand away, but if you so much as breathe heavy, he’s going to shoot you. I won’t be able to stop him. Nod if you understand and agree to be quiet.”

  Jordana nodded, shaking.

  “Good, now sit down,” he said and threw her into the empty chair. She sat without a peep, her eyes closed and muttered prayers falling from her lips.

  Barnes rushed over to the door and locked it. He glanced around the room, then noticed the chains that had held Mancuso. He raced over and picked them up, then went back over to their two captives. “Let’s go, you two,” he said, motioning to the closet door.

  The captives stood up, and everyone moved over to the door. Mancuso covered the office door with his borrowed pistol, just in case. Barnes opened the closet door and found what he was looking for: a structural beam with some openings almost tailor made to run chains through. He looped the chain through one of the openings, then motioned to Wright.

  “Reverend, you first,” Barnes said and clamped one side of the handcuffs from each of the sets to Wright’s wrist and ankle. The man was now tied to the Church in a very real sense, something that made Barnes chuckle.

  He turned to Jordana and was reaching for her wrist when someone knocked on the office door.

  “Fucking seriously?” Mancuso whispered. “What the fuck is this, Grand Central Station?”

  “Go deal with it,” Barnes said as he finished securing the reverend.

  Mancuso crept over to the door, his bare feet making no noise on the carpet. There was another knock on the door, then a man’s voice came through, muffled.

  “Pardon me, Your Grace, but there’s a call, and I can’t find Jordana…”

  Mancuso looked back at Barnes, who was holding the secretary by the arm in case she decided to scream. Barnes shook his head and they waited for the man to leave.