As he walked east (his angels forbade the use of any motorized vehicle) his flock ebbed and flowed. Of the thirty faithful who rested for two weeks near Shelbyville for a birthing, only eighteen escaped an attack by a scouting party of Raiders.
Those left behind, living or dead, had gone to glory, Javier explained. The sacrifice demanded by the divine was for the others to walk on.
Some died of illness or in birthing. Some fled in the night. Others joined simply for the safety in numbers, and most of them fell away.
On a day green with spring, three years after his redemption, he led his flock of twenty-three—to the mountaintop.
And there, his gray-streaked hair flowing, his sunbaked face luminous, his eyes kind and crazed, he opened his arms to the valley below.
In this sacred valley, we will live, he told them. In this cup of holy ground we will worship. And with our prayers and with our faith, the world will be cleansed as we are cleansed, and made worthy for the coming of the divine.
It took days to reach the valley, and there the river flowing through it swelled with the beat of spring rain. They built their fires, pitched their tents.
Women, as their hands and hearts were more pure, prepared the meal of berries and oats. Men, as their backs were stronger, their minds keener, gathered stones and twigs and mud to build stronger shelters.
There in that quiet valley, a devout madman created his image of peace.
Eight years later, Duncan crouched on the snow-covered ground. Dusk sighed down, thin and gray. Through it he studied the commune.
“No defenses. Nada,” he said in amazement to Will. “No guards, no checkpoints. Jeez, Suzanne tried to warn them, and they ignored her, preached at her. They didn’t listen, so now the enemy could settle down on one of those ridges, pick them off like flies.”
Will nodded, shifted slightly while his eyes, dark blue, scanned the ridge. “I figure they’ll put some up there, pick off runners. They’re going to want to capture plenty. Executions are their big show.”
Beside them, Eddie grunted. His straw-colored hair straggled out from under the black ski cap Fred had knitted for him.
“They got themselves a freaking carnival ride here, man. Not only no defenses, but who the hell camps where you’ve got no way out? You make it to the river, then what the fuck? Can’t swim across this time of year for sure. Cold’ll kill you sure as a bullet. You got the mountain blocking that way. Head for the woods, okay, how far you gonna get? Not a one of them wearing decent boots. And, dude, what’s up with those weird-ass robes?”
Flynn, half in, half out of a tree, laid a hand on the head of his wolf. “We can ask them about their wardrobe after we save their pious asses. Starr and I can get closer from this point.”
Starr, quiet as smoke, eased out of a tree, simply nodded. If she could say something in two words, she wouldn’t use three.
“Steve and Connor move in from that point.” Flynn gestured toward a band of trees where others waited, including the two elves.
“Okay then.” Will shifted. “Let them know.”
Easily done, as elves could communicate mind to mind.
“And let’s have Maggie take her group up to that ridge. Any PWs who move up there need to be taken out, quietly. Eddie?”
“My man.”
“Take your team to the south end with Jonah’s. The PWs will be coming soon.”
“They’re coming now.” Flynn, tall, lean as a whippet, angled his head. His eyes, sharp green, narrowed. “I hear engines.”
“Elf ears,” Eddie noted.
“Direction?”
“Southeast. Maybe a quarter of a mile.” Flynn glanced toward Starr for confirmation, then held up a hand. “They stopped.”
“Coming on foot, bigger surprise. Take positions,” Will ordered. “Let’s ambush the ambushers.”
As they moved into positions, Duncan watched the targets gather together. They came—in those weird-ass robes and strange shoes—out of tents and what looked like huts of mud and freaking twigs to stand in a circle around a central fire.
Kids, too, he noted. Babies carried in slings.
No one spoke. When one of the babies squalled, the woman carrying it bared her breast, offered it.
Then there was silence, just the wind sloughing through the trees, as the circle, even the children, drew hoods over their heads, and bowed them.
Sitting ducks, he thought. Every last one of them. The wind kicked up the robes some, exposing bare legs that had to be freezing.
A man came out of one of the huts, long, unbound gray-streaked hair blowing. He moved into the middle of the circle. He lifted his arms high.
“We are the Chosen.”
“Let us be worthy,” the circle responded.
“We have been sinners, all.”
“We do repent.”
“Do you reject the demon inside you?”
“We do reject him and all his evils.”
“Do you embrace the divine?”
“We do embrace him. And we pray for his embrace.”
During the call and response, Duncan edged over until he was shoulder to shoulder with Tonia. “If the faeries can’t manage to pluck up all the kids,” he whispered, “we need to block them or herd them toward the woods, where we can pick them up after.”
“There are three women with babies. If we can’t get the women clear, we get the babies clear.”
Two infants, he counted, and one maybe a year or so. “Agreed.”
“Dunc? They’re a bunch of lunatics.”
“Oh, yeah, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to be slaughtered.”
“No, but we save their butts tonight, even get them out of here to safety? They’re just going to come back. Because they’re lunatics.”
Though he didn’t disagree, he shrugged. Tonight was tonight. Tomorrow was whatever it was. Plus, the chance to take on and defeat a squad of PWs couldn’t be overstated.
He wanted the battle.
Will held up a hand, then seven fingers before pointing to the ridge.
Comm from the elves, Duncan thought. Seven PWs moving up to the ridge. Then he pointed toward Eddie’s position, flashed ten fingers twice. Twenty moving toward the south of the camp. Fifteen, Duncan confirmed, reading the next signal, heading west—their position. And another eight moving east.
With a team of six spreading out through the woods—a cleanup crew, Duncan concluded.
Elves were damn handy, and a lot quieter than walkies.
He heard the movement, the snap of a twig, while the group around the fire continued to call and respond about angels and demons. He touched a hand to his sister’s knee.
“Ready?”
“Oh, yeah.” She moved, quick and quiet as a snake, rising, pivoting behind a tree. Notched an arrow in her bow. Duncan grabbed the hilt of his sword, rolled onto the balls of his feet.
“Ridge secure,” Will murmured. “Hit the lights.”
Duncan pumped his free hand in the air and turned the night to midday. It effectively blinded any enemy wearing night-vision goggles. And the screaming began.
Some in the circle simply fell to their knees, maybe, Duncan thought fleetingly, thinking the light was a sign from their divine. Others scattered.
Gunfire erupted, and Purity Warriors flooded in.
He’d heard the saying about bringing a knife to a gunfight, but Duncan considered a sword a different matter. Plus, a gun didn’t do much good when the hand holding it was cleaved off.
The man he’d wounded let out a shrill scream as his blood spurted. The keen aim of Tonia’s arrow took out another, and Will’s return fire still more.
With his sword slashing, Duncan threw out a wave of power, sent two men and a woman flying back. He sensed a movement to his left, spun to block an attack. A good thing, he’d think later, as he heard a bullet whine past his head.
They had shotguns, the shells loaded with bits of metal. The shrapnel peppered trees, huts, the ground. He felt a sting at his hip, ignored it, and punched power toward the gun. As it turned molten, the shooter cried out, dropped it.
One of the elves rose out of a rock, dropped the shooter.