Purge: Book Three: Last Days Trilogy (6 page)

“Come, let’s...” Michael looked to Reggie. She was grinning, still looking at the bullet. “Reggie?”

“How come I’m not dead?”

“We are one.” He folded her hand around the bullet. “I feel it in my soul.” Michael walked off to join his new army.

Marcus winced as he watched Reggie’s face. “Reg.”

Reggie held up her hand and whiffed out an irritated breath. “I do not believe this. Does it have to do with me not wearing a skirt?”

“Your Dad isn’t.”

Reggie rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to stay calm.”

“You aren’t doing well at it.”

“That’s because I can’t!” She raised her voice and ignored Marcus, who tried to silence her. “Some of these men are assholes. Do they pull a sword? Yes!”

“Reg, maybe it’s a chauvinistic thing. None of the other women pulled swords.”

“Marcus, they didn’t try. They aren’t fighting. They’re nurses. And my dad’s too old to battle, but he still he gets a sword.”

“Reg.” Marcus dropped his voice. “You think all this blaspheming may have something to do with you not pulling a sword?”

“No!”

“Okay. Just making an observation.”

“And Buzz?” Reggie spun to Marcus. “Buzz got a sword. Look how pompous and proud Michael looks. I swing my arms off every day and I don’t get one.”

“Today you will.” Marcus calmed her. “You haven’t tried yet. But Reg, if you don’t, don’t feel left out. Come on.” He snickered. “Do you think I’m pulling a sword? I’m no warrior.”

“Marcus,” Michael called him. “Come. Your turn to try.”

Marcus gave a squeeze to Reggie’s arm as he passed her. “I’ll be back to sulk with you.” He smiled at Michael, braced himself and bent down. Sliding the flat stone from the hole, Marcus extended his hand.

Reggie watched and knew the result when the expression on Marcus’ face changed to one of great anxiety. “Marcus?”

“I’m...” He cringed. “I’m sorry, Reg.” He pulled out a silver sword with a broad but reticent grin.

Reggie shrieked. “No!”

“This is pretty cool.” Marcus smiled. “I mean, wow. I really don’t deserve this.”

“Asshole,” said Reggie.

“What did I do?”

“I’m your best friend. Put that back.”

“Reg, I pulled it.”

“I don’t care.”

Michael stepped to her. “Reggie, your turn. Please. So we can begin.”

“Every damn day.” Reggie marched to the hole. “Every day. I come here, bend over, and reach in this stupid hole.” She stuck in her hand. “And... hey.”

Michael smiled. Marcus prepared to clap.

Reggie pulled on the handle and lifted up. “What?” As soon as her arm emerged, she was surrounded with laughter. “What is this?” She held a short gold knife.

“Ah, Reggie.” Michael smiled, impressed. “That is a dagger.”

“A dagger?” She stood up. “A dagger. What the hell, Michael! A dagger? What is this? The feminine version of a sword?”

“Reggie...” Michael tried to speak.

“The petite version. I wasn’t asking for one like you have; I don’t need one that gaudy. But everyone else gets a silver sword and I get a paring knife?”

“It is an honor,” Michael explained.

“It’s embarrassing. Especially when Marcus gets a sword. Marcus is no warrior, but his nerd ass still gets a sword.”

“Hey!” Marcus barked. “At least I got one.”

“Give me that.” Reggie snatched it. “And you.” She swung toward Michael. “Draw up, pal. You’re doing this to me on purpose.”

Michael saw the silver sword come his way; he drew his sword, clanking down on hers to stop it. “Reggie, how clever of you to want to pull a demonstration right now.”

“This is no demonstration.” She brought the sword around.

As he engaged her, Michael instructed loudly for the others to hear. “Remember, defense is the key. When you attack, you will be attacked.” He spoke through each swing. “If you find yourself being challenged, defend. The object is to get your opponent in...” He swung hard, connecting his sword with Reggie’s. Locked blade-to-blade, Michael inhibited her from moving. “…a vulnerable position.” With a rapid lift, he flung away her sword and brought the blade to her throat. “And kill them.” He raised one eyebrow at her and winked.

The roar of clapping was replaced with the loudest thunder ever to cross the sky. It ripped out, vibrating the ground.

Michael looked up. The wind whipped. Black clouds rolled across the sky, streaked with flames and lightning bolts.

“Michael?” Reggie cried out.

“We are safe,” Michael yelled over the noise.

“Safe from what?” Reggie tried to keep her balance as the ground shook. In a transfer of loud, almost unbearable noises, the thunder turned into screams echoing from the sky.

Michael peered up. “Devante is securing what is his. He is taking the souls he has gathered from this earth. Taking them from their bodies, and replacing them… with pure evil.”

Mark Twain National Forrest, MO

There were no more than ten of Devante’s original apostles left. A few of his inner circle, along with Lillian, were all he took with him when he headed to the hills, literally.

The changeling of souls knew no boundaries. Therefore, no one who sided with Devante was safe from being replaced with the bowels of hell unless they were in his close proximity. He had a use for those he protected. As for the rest of mankind, their work was finished, at least on Earth.

“I merely increased our chances,” Devante explained to Leonard. “No longer will we wait for the battle to come to us. You can say our army consists of nearly indestructible hunters.”

“Nearly?” Leonard asked.

“They can be destroyed, but only with holy weapons.”

“Does this mean we don’t have to send Todd and Lillian to Seville?”

“As much as I enjoy the presence of Todd and his gift, I need them in Seville, should there be a final battle.”

A slight smile graced Leonard’s face. “Are you saying this switch may give us an early victory?”

“It was your suggestion to exercise all options.”

“And you did, by bringing hell to earth. That’s a big option.”

“But not the biggest,” Devante said. “No matter how strong they are, our soldiers can still be defeated. Our best chance will be through a battle they cannot see coming. A battle for which their weapons will be useless.”

Leonard’s eyes widened. “You’re going into their minds next, aren’t you?”

Devante smiled.

Route 94 South

Northern Ohio

According to Michael, the old rule, “safety in numbers,” had been reversed to “danger in numbers.” He insisted that only he, Reggie and Buzz would make the trip to the church. Any more people could draw unwanted attention.

Reggie didn’t understand why Michael made a big deal out of a trip that would take no more than an hour. His pre-trip lectures were tiresome. It wasn’t a battle; just a retrieval. In Reggie’s mind, if it were all that dangerous, more people could combat trouble a lot better than the three of them in a big yellow school bus. She tried that on Michael, but he was adamant.

It took only ten minutes into the drive before Reggie grew antsy. She moved to the front of the bus for a better view. Holding onto the metal bar, Reggie leaned into Buzz. “How much farther?” she asked.

“Another three miles.” Buzz peered through the windshield. “Good thing the sky didn’t stay dark, or else we’d have a hard time on this road.”

Michael stood from his seat and joined Reggie up front. “How many children does this man take care of?”

“Twenty-two. They’re camping out in the old school next to the church. Place is run-down. But no one goes there.”

“Good.” Michael nodded. “We’ll get them, load them in this large vehicle and bring them with us. We should waste no time on belongings. There could be trouble, and the three of us are not a large force.”

Reggie swung a glance Michael’s way. “No shit, Sherlock,” she said. “That was your call.”

“Sherlock?” Michael questioned.

“Hold up, you two,” Buzz called. “Look ahead. Is the road gone?”

Reggie looked. “Maybe you’d better slow down.”

Buzz released the gas pedal. “I hope nothing’s happened. Nah. It’s only the light reflecting off the road. We’re seeing...” Buzz’s eyes filled with terror. “Oh my God.”

“Hit the brakes!” Reggie screamed.

“No!” Michael warned. “Keep going. Do not...”

Using both feet, Buzz slammed on the brakes. There was no screeching of tires, just a double thump and a bounce followed by a loud scream. The bus stopped.

With a heart-aching moan, Buzz dropped his head to the steering wheel. “Oh, God; I hit him.”

“Do not stop,” Michael ordered. “Keep going. Now.”

Before Buzz could react, Reggie swung open the door and raced out.

“Reggie!” Michael called out. “Stop.” He chased after her, and Buzz followed.

Reggie covered her mouth and closed her eyes. The calls for help swarmed around her. So many, it sounded like the buzzing of flies. There was blood by her feet where the bus had stopped. Slowly stepping forward, Reggie looked around. Instead of a road and field, she saw bodies. They were everywhere, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands. Not a speck of land could be seen. However, the bodies were not remains. They were alive. Seemingly swallowed from the waist down, the torsos of men and women emerged from the earth like sick, wilted flowers. Their arms waved and reached, their faces were pasty-white with death. Mouths agape, they let out tormented screams. “Save us,” they cried. “Please save us.”

Reggie took a step; she could see the lifeless body beneath the wheel of the bus.

“Reggie.” Michael grabbed her. “Back in the vehicle.”

Reggie pulled away. Ice-cold hands grabbed for her ankles, touching her, and a shudder went through her body. “We have to help them.”

“No,” said Michael. “Get back on.”

“Buzz.” She ignored Michael. “Buzz. Help me.”

“Reggie.” Michael stayed firm. “Do you not see?”

“I see all right.” Reggie peered around. “Buzz?”

Buzz kicked his legs, fighting off the hands that tried to stop him. “Reg. If Michael says...”

“Oh, my God.” Reggie barged through the bodies, being careful not to step on them. She spotted a boy, no older than sixteen. “Michael!” she called out.

“Help me. Please,” the boy cried to her.

“You poor thing.” Reggie crouched down to him.

“I’m in pain. I’m in so much pain,” he cried.

“I know. I’ll help you.” She grabbed his hand and pulled with all of her strength.

“Reggie! No!” Michael called out. “Buzz, get in the vehicle. Get ready to go.”

Reggie freed the boy and screamed in horror. As the upper half of his body emerged, his serpent lower portion was revealed. It squirmed about, its tail snapping at the ground left and right. Reggie turned and ran. The boy hissed, shooting a rope-like tongue from his mouth. It sailed at Reggie, whipping into her and wrapping around her ankle. She struggled but was unable to gain freedom. Stuck in one place, Reggie was an easy target. Out of the mouths of the tormented souls shot more vine-like tongues. Fast and ferociously they zapped her, right arm, left, waist, chest and throat. “Michael,” she gasped. She was trapped, unable to move.

Withdrawing his sword, Michael leapt forth. Swinging out before his feet touched the ground, he sliced the strangulating tongue. Reggie gasped for air. In a series of fast, whistling cuts, Michael seared through the tentacles that held her. They dropped and wilted instantly. Spinning his body, Michael beheaded a circle of freedom for them to escape. He stopped, caught his breath, grabbed onto Reggie and lifted her from her living grave.

“Go!” Michael called out as he raced onto the bus. “Sit,” he instructed Reggie, then shut the door. “Buzz, go!”

Buzz closed his eyes briefly, then shifted into gear and floored it. The cries and screams were loud as the bus made its way over and through the death-trap.

Breathing heavily, Michael walked to Reggie. She sat in the third seat, burying her face in her hands. He knelt before her and lifted her chin. “Are you all right?”

Reggie nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize.” Michael examined her neck.

“I should have listened. I didn’t listen.”

“You did, but you heard your heart louder.” Michael rested his hand on her cheek. “They will not fool you again.”

“No, they won’t.” She closed her eyes and leaned further into Michael’s hand.

<><><><>

The bus doors opened, and Reggie was the first to step out. It was an old schoolhouse with a “condemned” sign and weeds growing high around the structure.

“Buzz, you sure this is it?” Reggie asked.

“Yep.” Buzz stepped from the bus.

“Is everything okay? It looks...”

“It looks like it did four days ago.” Buzz smiled and patted her on the back. “Why else haven’t they been found? Listen.”

Reggie heard the sound of an old piano. Clunk-clunk-clunk, out of tune, the melody of
What a Friend we Have in Jesus
was being played. Apprehensively, she followed Buzz to the door. She stayed by Michael’s side, because something inside of her screamed “wrong.” The entire feel of the scene was off-kilter. If there were twenty children there, where was the chatter, laughter, the noises of playing? She tossed a worried glance at Michael as they stepped inside. The eerie-sounding piano playing grew in volume. A hallway, dark and dusty, was lit only by a few stray sunbeams. Reggie’s boots tromped loudly on the linoleum. A part of her wanted to reach out and grab Michael’s hand for support. But she didn’t. She needed to be strong. Michael’s look of concern didn’t help.

Buzz didn’t seem fazed at all. Reggie took comfort in knowing that he had been there several times. Perhaps the haunting feel of it all was normal.

Calling out as he turned into the classroom, Buzz disappeared from view. “Hey Father Stewart, I...”

The piano playing stopped.

Reggie looked curiously at Michael, then Buzz flew out of the classroom and into the hallway, heaving forward, splashing an eruption of vomit to the floor.

Reggie raced ahead. As soon as she turned into the room, her foot caught the dampness, and she slid across as if it were ice. Blood, fresh, red, at least an inch thick, carpeted the floor. In trying to stop, Reggie spun to the left and plowed face-first into a wall. Securing her stance, she turned around. Her body immediately went into spasms. All twenty children were in there, seated neatly at their desks, slumped forward, the blood still flowing from their slit throats.

“Michael,” she whimpered as he walked cautiously into the room. Reggie wanted to bail out, run, until she saw that Michael didn’t look at the children, he looked toward the front of the classroom. Reggie turned clockwise. Her anguish was soon replaced with anger.

A man stood from behind the piano. He was dressed like a priest, his face red and blistered, with boils seeping pus. Dark circles encased his yellow, beady eyes.

Reggie moved closer to him.

He gurgled a breath, then smiled. “Devante sends his best.”

Eyes connected with those of the priest, Reggie lifted her revolver from her shoulder harness. Eerily calm, she extended it with a steady arm, pulled back the hammer and fired point-blank into the priest’s head. The shot failed to faze him. He flinched and then lunged. Without a thought, Reggie reached to her waist, grabbed her dagger and tossed it end over end into the center of Fr. Stewart’s throat, sailing him backwards. He wheezed a moan of torment as he slammed into the wall and burst into flames.

The fire died just as fast as it ignited; his body dropped to the floor and shriveled. Calmly, Reggie walked to the body, bent down and retrieved her dagger.

Michael said nothing. He took hold of her arm, leading her across the slick floor and out of the room.