This time was different. The two Russians we were expecting were seasoned pros. Mark was pretty sure he was better than either of them alone, but two working together would be dangerous. Therefore, he needed my help, and it was a great feeling. It was a different mental process, knowing that I was expected to try to kill someone.
Every time I closed my eyes, I could see in my mind the fight in the night club, and the feeling as I pulled the trigger on the shotgun pistol. The recoil hammered through my arms and sent my hands flying up and back, almost hitting me in the face as the unmuffled roar deafened me. My eyes would fly open, I'd be panting, and it would take me another ten minutes to try and close my eyes and get to sleep again.
Finally, around one in the morning, I dropped off into what could best be called a disturbed sleep. I won't even go into the dreams I had, full of death and violence and blood. I sat up with a scream barely contained behind my lips, and sweat dripping down my face. I glanced at the digital clock and saw that it was three fifty-eight in the morning. "Fuck," I muttered, running my hand down my face.
Mark, who I thought had been sleeping but had been lying quietly on his side of our bed, turned and looked at me with concern in his eyes. "If it's any consolation, I know how you feel."
I thought back to the first time he'd told me about what his job was, and how he'd killed seventy-six people so far. He had told me that for every single one of them, he had nightmares and regrets. It was one of the things that had helped me realize that despite the bloodiness of his profession, I felt that Mark was, in his heart, still a decent man; someone I could love. Now I was to join the brotherhood, it seemed. It was what I chose to do, but I had to admit I was scared that I was moving a little too fast, getting in over my head. "Does it get any easier?"
"For some of the men I used to call coworkers, yes," Mark said quietly, sitting up next to me. "They were the scary ones, and the ones that we knew once they reached a certain level, they couldn't be trusted any more. They were the ones who came to not only tolerate but even enjoy or need the violence and the blood. They were the ones we sometimes had to take out because they'd gone fully over the edge."
"Did you ever...?" I asked fearfully. Mark nodded his head.
"Number forty-seven. His name was Bob, probably not his real name, but he also worked for the Confederation. I had to hunt him down and put him out after he'd taken out not just his target, but the target's entire family just because he wanted to."
I shivered and leaned into Mark, who held me close. We lay back down on the bed, and for the first time all night I felt some comfort. Having his arms around me reassured me that I was still normal for feeling the way I did. "How many more will we need to kill?"
Mark shook his head. "Not as many as you fear, I think. The bigger weapon will be the use of information, spying, and media exposure. If we do those right, it'll be much cleaner. But yes, some will have to die."
I decided to change the subject, all the talk of killing started to bring me down a little. "How is it you get any rest beforehand? You don't sound exhausted or blurry in the least. I thought you were asleep."
"Meditation," Mark said, squeezing me in his arms and kissing my neck. "And one other thing, at least with this idea."
"What's that?"
Mark kissed the top of my head, and I could hear him inhale the scent of my hair deeply. "I think of you. The rest is easy."
* * *
Sophie
We got to the warehouse just after six in the morning. While I didn't think I'd be able to eat or drink anything, Mark insisted we have something on hand, so after leaving Mount Zion, we stopped at a convenience store to pick up some easy to digest groceries.
Mark didn't allow us to get anything with caffeine in it or anything overly greasy or dense. This, of course, eliminated about seventy percent of the store, and another fifteen percent was eliminated because it was cat food, motor oil, playing cards and the like. Still, we were able to find some juices, light fruits and packages of sliced chicken breasts that filled our needs. "I know you're cruising on nerves now," Mark said as we entered the warehouse, "but that's going to fade. You're going to start feeling hungry and thirsty eventually."
He was right, and by ten, I'd already drank one of the bottles of fruit juice. I kept glancing at the clock on the wall, while Mark made sure our video feed of the outside was clear. He'd installed obscure video cameras around the building to monitor everything. He'd even set up cameras on the inside of the building just in case the Russians tried something unexpected.