Badlands Trilogy (Book 3): Out of the Badlands by Brian J. Jarrett Page A

he’d never been able to completely mimic. But rarely did anyone notice, outside of a gut feeling about him that they ultimately ignored. They always ignored it, years and years of social training forcing them to ignore what their subconscious told them. By the time they figured it out it was too late. Always too late.
    Night came, bringing with it the stirrings of the creatures that moved freely within its cloaking darkness. A second bottle followed the first, pulled from Rita’s stash, along with her repetitious explanation of its inferior quality compared to the first bottle. Lester didn’t give a fuck, but he lifted his glass when expected, mouth turned up into a smile while his eyes watched coldly.
    He glanced at Chloe, the soft and supple skin of her throat calling out to him, begging him to open it up. He could almost see the glorious crimson flow as it drenched her shirt, sticky and wet, hugging pert nipples as her eyes spoke to him.
    Lester’s eyes might not be able to speak, but Chloe’s could.
    And this, Lester discovered, made him whole.

Chapter Twenty-Two

    Just before dusk, they arrived.
    Pale skinned and muscles rippling, the monsters accumulated outside the fence surrounding Enoch’s church, bathed in the dim light of the setting sun. Only the top of the blazing disk peeked out from behind the horizon, casting long shadows. Shadows perfect for creatures that hunted in the darkness.
    On his hands and knees, Jeremy crawled toward the edge of the platform, dragging the heavy chain behind him. The sound of the chain seemed to excite the creatures and they paused in their hunched approach, noses in the air, sniffing. They stared upward, toward the wooden platform built on the tree, grunts and whines escaping them.
    Gooseflesh puckered on Jeremy’s skin as a dagger of fear stabbed him in the stomach. A vivid memory flashed through his panicked mind, one of his family at the park, feeding the ducks from a low bridge above a pond. Jeremy’s father had brought a loaf of stale bread along and when the ducks saw this they gathered below the bridge, bills pointed skyward, waiting for their food. At the time Jeremy had never stopped to consider just how ravenous those ducks had been. Just like the monsters below him now.  
    “They’re carriers,” a voice said from behind him.
    Startled, Jeremy jumped, finding himself dangerously close to the edge. He looked back toward the steps to see Enoch’s guard stepping onto the wooden platform. Jeremy recognized him as the man who’d snatched him from the prison cell earlier. The beasts below scurried about, growling as they vied for position, trained to wait on their evening feeding.
    “It’s hard to believe, but brother Enoch has confirmed it,” the guard continued. “God told him so. The carriers have changed. They’ve become something different, something unholy. They require feeding, satiation.” He paused. “Sacrifice.”
    “Don’t do this,” Jeremy muttered. He felt like he might pee his pants at any moment.
    “It’s God’s will,” the guard said. “He won’t be denied. I know you’re young, but the sooner you understand this, the more at peace you’ll be.”
    Jeremy looked around the platform. Everything he planned out so carefully in his mind now seemed impossible. The guard was so much bigger, the monsters below so frightening this close up.
    “I won’t throw you to them alive,” the guard said. His eyes took on a look of misplaced compassion that frightened Jeremy as much as the creatures below. “You won’t even feel the bullet. I promise.”
    The guard took two steps toward where Jeremy crouched, still on his hands and knees.
    Jeremy tensed.
    Retrieving a small handgun from within his long robe, the guard took another step. “Stand up,” he said.
    Jeremy shook his head.
    “Now. The Lord calls upon you.”
    The guard took another step, bringing himself to within a few feet from Jeremy.
    “No,” Jeremy said, backing away. He had