Part 17 (1/2)

It wasn't her fault. She was doing what she could. She wouldn't let those voices of defeat pull her down.

She rolled on her side so her back was to Zanine. Her eyes filled with tears but she wouldn't indulge her urge to cry. Dejah clutched her hands to her chest as if clinging to her last threads of hope. Though she didn't know where salvation would come from, she trusted that it would come. She would be free. She refused to believe that the sole reason her gift, or power, or whatever the h.e.l.l it was, was given to her just so she could live to be this crazy reverend's bride.

She said a prayer to G.o.d for revelation, for comfort, for help. She tried to have faith that he heard her and was with her, but it wasn't easy.

Finally, she drifted asleep.

Roughly dragged along by two guards, Shaun was led to an abandoned section of the adjoining school to the end of a hallway with double doors leading outside.

The two men who manhandled him wore rifles. They shoved him to his knees. Moonlight shone through the windows onto the cold tile floor. The guard to Shaun's right was a fat, gray-bearded white man wearing John Lennon gla.s.ses who looked stupid and dead inside except for the distant spark of a craving that bordered on the perverse. The other guard Shaun knew by name: Reeves. He was dressed in sharp fatigues, perfect picture of a military man gone wrong, ready to bring all the fires of h.e.l.l down upon a kid who dared bring the reverend disgrace amongst his people.

”You got it comin' kid.” Reeves sneered. He stepped forward and launched a boot into Shaun's side. Shaun yelped and tried to scramble backward out of the path of Reeves's foot. He banged against the double doors. ”You f.u.c.ked up pretty good, you know. Y'all had it just fine here no reason to cause a stir. No reason to go launching yourself at the holy Reverend Keller because he stole your girl.”

”She's not my girl. She's my friend, and we thought we were brought here under a gesture of goodwill, not as prisoners of some nutjob!”

”Yeah, well, things change, kid. You heard the reverend. G.o.d brought that woman here to be his bride. To serve the church. Which pretty much leaves you the odd-man out. Especially if you're not on board with the plan. We have a pretty good thing goin' here. Don't need some little s.h.i.+t like you f.u.c.kin' things up.”

The fat pasty dude gave a belly laugh and s.h.i.+fted the rifle in his hands.

”Open the doors,” Reeves ordered.

The fat man went past Shaun and unchained the doors. The metal links clanked in the hallway, echoing as the chain clattered free.

”For some reason, the reverend ordered you punished, not killed. So, maybe he doesn't want you dead, but I suppose he might not be too d.a.m.ned upset if there was an accident. After all, your blood wouldn't be on his hands that way.”

Night wind rushed into the hallway. The scents of cold trees, prairie gra.s.ses, and autumn's damp leaves swirled around them. There was just the stray hint of something else, too. Death. Decay.

Moonlight poured through the open doorway onto Shaun in solid beams as he stood, defiant before the two men. He was just as tall as they were. Shaun sized them up, entertaining the thoughts of escape.

”Go on,” the fat white man said, ramming his rifle b.u.t.t into Shaun's chest. It knocked the air from him. Shaun reeled backward, tripping over the threshold onto the wood-chipped ground outside. He stumbled to get his balance against a yellow ducky for children to ride. He looked around a swing set, teeter totter, merry-go-round. This was a play area for the younger kids at the school. A chain link fence surrounded the small area, and beyond the fence, in the distance, over the tops of a tree-clad hill, figures shambled toward him.

Shaun's heart tripled its pace as he ran for the doors to get back inside. The fat man laughed, aiming the rifle at him.

”No,” Shaun pleaded. He looked over his shoulder toward the infected picking up his scent. They shambled closer to the playground. ”You can't leave me out here.”

”Get back, kid. You're making me uncomfortable.” Reeves pulled a pistol from his hip and fired into the ground near Shaun's feet. The sound of the shot slammed into his ears. The sudden ringing in his ears m.u.f.fled the men's laughter. The fat white one took a shot with the rifle. The bullet sparked against the steel ducky and sent it swaying like crazy. A ricochet whined in the darkness.

Shaun screamed and scrambled backward across the wood-chipped ground. Before he knew it, his back was pressed against the fence. For just a moment, the immediate danger of the men shooting at him replaced his fear of the Sickies on the other side of the fence. He remembered d.a.m.n quick as one of the infected zombies slipped an ashen, patchy-skinned hand through the links and dug into his s.h.i.+rt with a rotted, claw-like hand.

He spun. The face of the infected was mummified, skin taut across skullish features. It was like a living skeleton with skin and gore-caked teeth, a bag of bones in leathery film. He could feel the fetid breath of the thing panting against his skin.

Shaun yelled and rolled away, swatting the grasping hand from his s.h.i.+rt. He came to a stop near the base of the spinning merry-go-round. Blindly, he reached for the metal bars to pull himself up, but it carried him under, continuing to turn. His leg was caught until he pulled away and stood, panting, staring at the five Sickies pressed against the fence. Savagely they fought each other for the chance to score the waiting prey. Snapping and snarling, the Sickies battled for the best position, all the while yanking and throwing themselves maniacally against the fence. The thin metal links bowed beneath their weight. One of the fiends yanked on the fence, rattling and clinking it against the support poles. Shaun regarded its construction worriedly.

Beyond the current cl.u.s.ter of zombies, others caught the scent of flesh and were straggling this way. They came over the hill, through the clearing, black lumbering shapes. Hungry. Shaun took a deep shuddering breath. He couldn't swallow; the reflex was frozen with fear. Tears welled in his eyes but he didn't sob. He thought of rus.h.i.+ng the two men with the guns, but knew they were more dangerous to him for the time being. At least until more zombies put their weight against the fence.

”Hope we don't have ourselves any accidents here, eh kid?” yelled Reeves. The fat man chuckled right on cue. A flash of fire signified Reeves lighting a cigar. ”Well, now. Let's just hope it all holds together for ya.”

”Whuddya know,” boomed the fat white man's voice. ”Instead of getting in trouble and havin' to stay in from recess, the kid's gotta go out to the playground for bein' a troublemaker.”

”Why, Darryl,” said Reeves. ”What an astute observation you've made. Downright ironic, I'd say.” Reeves puffed his cigar with a grin and aimed his pistol at Shaun's feet. He fired. Wood chips exploded. Shaun's eardrums rang like the aftermath of a hammer on steel as he jumped back but struggled not to fall against the fence. The thin metal fence was now heavy with the leaning weight of dozens of zombies, their arms grasping for him.

”Might be a long night.” The two men laughed.

Shaun stood, bathed in silver moonlight, waiting to die.

The room housing the Daughters of Heaven was quiet now. The plush accoutrements were hunched shapes in the near-darkness. The only light glowed amber from a decorative lamp in the far corner next to Karen's sleeping form, sprawled without covers atop her bed. Not far from where she slept, Judith stirred atop the divan. Dejah was still asleep so deeply that she didn't move from the position she'd been in when she rolled over and closed her eyes.

Zanine was still awake. She stared at the long mirror on the back wall of the room and felt someone staring back.

It was him.

She knew Keller watched them in the night. Watched them change, watched them sleep. The pervert even watched them p.i.s.s. There were mirrors everywhere. So tonight, she'd given him a show. Tonight she needed a man, and he wouldn't come to her. All he ever did was sit back there and watch like some chickens.h.i.+t peeping Tom.

She yearned for him, for his power. So she spread her legs over the arms of the recliner, caressing her inner thighs, hiking up her dress until her loins were exposed to the cool air of the room. She wore no panties because she always hoped he'd come to the room and have his way with her. Out of all of the Daughters of Heaven, she wanted that the most. The others were simply prisoners. She was a prisoner of love, of her l.u.s.ts for him ... as she touched herself tonight, she thought of Keller touching her instead. And she spread her legs to the mirror as she satisfied her craving for release, moaning and writhing, gasping as she came.

Now she let the dress fall around her legs. She focused on the slumbering shapes in the room. On one shape in particular. The one she hated. The woman who'd come to them as good as dead, and now lay sleeping peacefully on the canopied bed across from her.

Dejah.

She gave it no thought as she withdrew the s.h.i.+ning blade from the drawer. A knife she'd secreted from the cafe, just a steak knife, but sharp and deadly enough to do what needed to be done. She was tired of compet.i.tion. Too many women were gathered in these chambers, and with each new wife accepted into the fold, her chances of being the recipient of Keller's love and seed were diminis.h.i.+ng. It was time to remove Dejah from the equation. This time she'd make sure the woman died. She would stab her to death, and then hack off her head inch by b.l.o.o.d.y inch.

Zanine stood and gripped the knife, blade down, for repeated stabbing. Stealthily, she crept bare-footed across the room. Now that she'd had an o.r.g.a.s.m, she breathed easy. The exhilaration released her pressures and gave her the presence of mind to do what had to be done. This would surely show the reverend how much she loved him. How far she was willing to go for his love.

She hovered above Dejah just watching the rise and fall of the woman's chest. Zanine raised the weapon, angling down. The silver blade gleamed in the scant light. She smiled ever so slightly.

She thrust the knife down toward Dejah's neck.

As if by dispelled illusion, a door burst open in a nearby wall. The wallpaper cracked open in the shape of an arch as Reverend Keller rushed through. His pale face gathered all the light in the room, but his sinister, dark eyes reflected it like the eyes of a vicious dog. Draped in a silken black robe, he rushed to Zanine.

”No!” Keller shouted, grabbing her wrist. The knife froze in midair. The reverend knocked it away. It flipped across the room and clattered into a corner.

Zanine stopped struggling, and her eyes lit with joy. ”Reverend! Oh love, I need you!” Her eyes flicked to the opening of his robe. Between his legs jutted a pinkish erection, pus.h.i.+ng between the flaps of his nighttime attire. She reached for his s.e.x organ like a starved woman. He slapped her across the face and flung her away in a rage.

Zanine fell to the floor before him. ”Oh Reverend Keller. Lawrence, my love. Let me suck your c.o.c.k. Let me be your slave. f.u.c.k me! I need you! f.u.c.k me like you've never f.u.c.ked a woman before! I'll be yours always. And when the Lord comes I'll be yours from now and into Heaven-”

”Shut up, you wh.o.r.e,” he yelled. ”Shut up!” With the last word he slapped her again, following the loud smack with a kick to the ribs. ”Harlot! Jezebel! How dare you tempt me with your wiles. You are a tool of Satan, driven by demons and sent to lead us to our deaths.”

Dejah awoke, watching the exchange in bewildered half-cognizance. She drew closer to the headboard, clutching blankets around her in some false form of security.