Authors: Edwin Page
I stood in one
of the larger army tents, the entrance opposite and a map spread out on a
foldaway table before me. A small group of my most loyal followers stood in the
canvas confines with me, the walls moving as the wind brushed against them.
‘There’s a big crowd gathered out there,’ stated Morgan as he entered,
having to duck slightly.
‘How many?’ I asked.
‘A couple of hundred at least. They want to know what’s going on?’
‘Any sign of trouble?’
He shook his head. ‘They seem more concerned with being able to head
north than with what’s happened to the soldiers.’
‘Survival,’ I responded simply. ‘What did you say to them?’
‘Nothing.’
I thought for a moment before turning to Cheryl and Mark as they stood to
my left. ‘Is there anything in the rigs that’s quick and easy to make?’
‘A few containers of soup,’ stated Cheryl.
‘And what about the special ingredient?’
She nodded as the others in the tent glanced at each other quizzically. ‘Plenty.’
‘Add it all.’
‘All?’ She looked at me in surprise.
‘Yeah. This’ll be the last supper before making our way north, so let’s
make it a good one.’
Wade came in with his brother following close behind. ‘They were telling
the truth,’ he said a little breathlessly. ‘Two tanks sitting in front of the
booths north.’
‘Any way round?’ I asked as he came to a standstill on the other side of
the table.
‘No. There’s woods to the east and to the west there’s buildings, fences
and then more woods.’
‘No one said anything about tanks,’ said Clive worriedly.
I glanced at him before looking down at the map. ‘Any suggestions for how
we get passed them?’
There was an ominous silence.
‘Do you want us to get to work on the soup?’ asked Mark.
I nodded distractedly. ‘Get as much help as you need,’ I said with a
dismissive wave.
He and Cheryl turned from the table and made their way out of the tent as
I pondered the problem that faced us.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ stated the Chief after clearing his throat.
Everyone turned to him as he sat on a chair in the right-hand corner
behind me, elbows on his knees and eyes dulled by his sickened state.
‘We use the tanker.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘An explosion?’ I asked.
He gave a weak nod. ‘We drive it straight into them.’
‘Cook the fuckers,’ said Wade, grinning his approval.
‘The armoured car goes on ahead and the covered trucks to either side to
protect it. They peel away at the last moment and… boom!’
‘But that’s a suicide mission,’ stated Clive.
‘I ain’t driving it,’ said Neil.
‘I will,’ said Brody.
The rest of us stared at him and he looked back with a bleak expression.
‘It’s better to burn out than fade away,’ he stated.
‘You really think that would work?’ asked Shane.
The Chief shrugged. ‘But it’s our best shot.’
‘We need cannon fodder,’ I said thoughtfully, turning back to the map
despite the fact it wasn’t any help. ‘There’s troops stationed at the border
station and so even if we take out the tanks, there’s still going to be a gun
battle.’
‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Shane, glancing out of the tent
door.
‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Go out there and gather everyone from our convoy who’s
armed. Then head on over to the crowd and tell them we have the cure, you know
the spiel. Separate the people feeling well from the others and we’ll have one
last sup from the cup of Christ before breaking through the border and heading
straight on to Montreal.’
‘Sure thing,’ he said, stepping away from the table and making his way
out of the tent.
I pondered a moment as I considered how to welcome those from the
roadside encampment into the fold. The image of the kids on the bridge came to
mind and I was struck by an idea.
‘Clive, go get the parade float and drive it up onto the bridge.’
‘We’re not using the fire trucks?’ he asked.
‘Not this time.’
He paused a moment and then exited.
I looked at those remaining in the tent. ‘Morgan, find as much rope as
you can. Get tow cables if you have to. Wade, David, you get a group together
to bind and gag those who are to be sacrificed. Bring them up onto the bridge.’
‘What about me?’ asked Neil.
‘Clear the highway just south of the bridge. If you have time after that,
get some help and move the army trucks, tanker and armoured car up to the front
of the convoy ready for the assault.’ I turned to Wade. ‘How far is the
crossing?’
‘About three clicks,’ he replied.
‘See if you can get the convoy pulled over to free up the inside lane,’ I
instructed, looking back to Neil. ‘We’ll send the new members of the flock in
after the tanker and if they don’t manage to finish the job, we’ll head in
after and mop up whatever troops are left.’
The last four members of my council walked out of the tent, leaving only
me and Chief Brody remaining. I crouched and pulled out an army issue backpack
out from under the table.
‘I found a field medical kit,’ I stated as I opened it and dug out the
two clear plastic boxes containing morphine ready for injection. ‘It looks like
you could do with some.’
‘It won’t do much for me now.’
‘You don’t want any?’
‘Just one for the walk to the tanker.’
I nodded and took a syringe out for him, handing it over. ‘I’m going to
make this a quick show,’ I said. ‘Montreal is calling.’
Brody nodded.
‘I thought I’d inject those being sacrificed with the rest. Maybe
there’ll be some effect when the people drink their blood.’
The Chief held my gaze. ‘We’re all going to hell.’
I stared back, surprised by his comment. ‘Our actions are sanctified by
the Lord and predicted in the book of Revelation.’
‘The Devil hides where you least expect him.’
My brow furrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I once read somewhere that Revelation is the work of the Devil, now I
believe it.’
I looked at him in surprise. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Who else would want humanity brought to its knees and the world
destroyed? Who else would want to see suffering and pain on a grand scale? Surely
not God?’ He asked pointedly.
‘But it’s divine judgement,’ I countered.
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s the Devil in disguise. Destroying countless
cities, poisoning the world and killing billions, that ain’t the work of any
god I’d pray to.’
‘It was foretold.’
Brody simply shook his head and stared at the flattened grass at his
feet. I studied him a moment and then dismissed his words as those of a man
near death, a man filled with regret and the angst of a life unfulfilled.
‘I should go and check on preparations.’
‘You do that,’ he responded sullenly. ‘I’ll make my way to the tanker. I
want this over with too, but for very different reasons.’
I took up the backpack and stepped around the table, making my way to the
entrance.
‘The Devil is within us,’ stated Brody just as I was about to step
outside. ‘That’s where he’s always been.’
I paused momentarily and then headed over to the southbound side of the
highway, making my way towards the embankment of the road that passed over the
bridge in order to get a good view of proceedings. Hopefully it wouldn’t take
my people long to have everything ready. I could feel the call of Montreal, of
destiny, and wanted to reach the city before the day was done.
I walked up to
the throng gathered at the rear of the convoy. Hundreds stood together,
whispers and murmurs passing through the crowd.
Standing on tiptoes, I tried to make out what was happening beyond. The
convoy seemed to be moving over to the side of the road, the coach which had
been the source of the gunfire slowly pulling away from where it had rested
beside the army camp, the glass of its windows left upon the highway. I
couldn’t see any sign of bodies and presumed the soldier’s corpses had already
been disposed of.
A group of people were taking plastic containers from the back of a rig
parked before the bridge, dragging them to the verge where others were setting
up camping stoves, a selection of pots and pans resting on the grass. What
appeared to be a parade float was slowly making its way up the off ramp on the
far side and the preacher’s followers seemed to be preparing for something.
The high whistle of a bull horn pierced the air and I watched as a young
man climbed onto the roof of one of the patrol cars in front of the crowd. He
looked out over the sea of faces for a moment and then raised it to his lips.
‘We have the cure. We have a way out of this,’ he called, ‘and will
welcome you all into the fold with open arms if you want to join.’
‘You have a cure?’ asked a gangly man towards the front.
‘We have the cure,’ he repeated. ‘Before we give it to you, we need to
know who’s feeling little or no effects of the sickness. Raise your hands if
you’re feeling okay. We don’t want to waste the cure on those who ain’t in need
of it.’
A few hands tentatively lifted into the air.
‘Please come forward and make your way over to the embankment over
there.’ He pointed over to the verge on the left.
I recalled what Stormy had witnessed south of Saratoga Springs and began to
back away. Something was amiss, I could feel it.
‘She looks fine.’
I turned and my heart leapt. The man who had stolen the Falcon and then
taken the pickup was pointing at me, people about him turning.
‘Yeah, you seem okay?’ concurred a rotund woman with bleached blonde hair
nearby.
I raised my hand submissively. ‘I’m not part of this,’ I stated.
I noted a couple of people making their way towards me through the crowd
and caught a glimpse of a rifle. My pulse raced as I backed away.
Suddenly turning, I sprinted down the road.
‘STORMY!’ I yelled between desperate breaths as my legs pumped furiously
and my feet pounded the asphalt.
I stared ahead at the green SUV, seeing her scramble out of the passenger
side, leaving the door wide as she made her way around the hood and jumped into
the driver’s seat. The engine roared a moment later and I gritted my teeth as I
put every effort into my escape.
Gunshots arose from behind and I flinched, anticipating a sudden flare of
pain. I heard a couple of impacts as bullets hit the front of the car, Stormy
staring out of the windshield with wide eyes.
There was screeching as the wheels spun and smoke lifted from beneath the
rear arches. She did a rapid u-turn, bringing the Range Rover to a halt in the
inside lane facing south, the passenger door wide and the relative safety within
spurring me on.
There was the sound of more firing as I neared the car and the rear
window blew in, the back showered in broken glass.
‘Chrissie!’ I exclaimed breathlessly.
I reached the car and jumped in.
‘GO! GO! GO!’ I shouted as a bullet embedded itself in the panel on the
inside of the passenger door.
Stormy slammed her foot down and the door swung shut with the sudden
forward momentum. More gunfire followed, the front window shattering and the
pieces scattering over the hood.
‘Keep down,’ said Stormy, her shoulders hunched as she gunned the car off
the road to the left.
‘What you doing?’
‘Making sure they can’t follow.’
We smashed through the fence between the verge and field beyond, heading for
the embankment of the road which ran over the southern bridge.
The car jolted as we began up the slope and were forced back into our
seats by the angle of ascent. A bullet ricocheted off the roof and a spray of
shots pierced the hood. Steam began to curl from beneath it a few moments
later, the SUV juddering as we leapt from the embankment and onto the road
beyond, Stormy struggling to stop us careering straight over and down the other
side.
She was forced to turn right, the road passing over the highway at an
angle which made the turn to the northeast too tight to make at our speed. The
driver’s side scraped along the side barrier of the bridge. A spray of sparks
rose into the air at Stormy’s shoulder as she wrestled with the wheel and my
heart hammered against my ribcage.
She managed to pull the SUV from the barrier and we passed over the
bridge heading southeast. Steam and then smoke began to poor from the ragged
line of bullet holes in the hood.
A loud whining filled the car and then the engine died.
‘SHIT!’ shouted Stormy in frustration as we freewheeled along the road,
the fields giving way to woodland on both sides.
She beat the steering wheel and then tried turning the key in the
ignition, but to no avail. Black smoke began to pour from beneath the hood and
a few tongues of flame could be seen as I sat up and stared out of the
windshield.
‘We need to pull over and fast,’ I stated.
She glanced in the mirror and pulled the car off to the right, letting it
coast onto the verge and bringing it to a halt beside the tree-line. ‘Let’s go
girls,’ she said over her shoulder, grabbing the door handle and jumping out of
the car.
I followed suit and went straight to Chrissie’s door as Jasmine got out
on the far side. ‘Come on, Chrissie. We need to hurry.’
She moved with frustrating slowness, turning her legs and scooching
forward to sit on the edge of the seat. Stormy was at the trunk, taking out the
bags and packs stowed inside, passing a large blue backpack to Jasmine.
The sound of a vehicle drew our attention to the bridge a few hundred
yards back along the road. Climbing up the nearside embankment was the red
pickup, the dull light highlighting the dent in its hood where the light
fitting had fallen from the gas station ceiling. A handful of people were
seated in the back, the barrels of rifles visible resting beside them.
I grabbed Chrissie, cradling her in my arms and feeling her fearful
lightness.
‘What about your bags?’ asked Stormy as she hurriedly put a green pack
over her shoulders.
‘There’s no other way,’ I replied.
She held my gaze a moment and grabbed my carryall. ‘Come on!’
I followed her and Jasmine into the woods, Chrissie moaning in my arms as
the Range Rover smoked at the roadside behind us. The tone of the pickup’s
engine changed and I guessed it had reached the highway at the top of the
embankment, knowing it wouldn’t be long until its passengers alighted and
hunted us through the trees.