Forget The Zombies (Book 3): Forget America by R.J. Spears

not a time for jokes!” Jeb shouted, his face contorted in rage as spittle flew from his lips.
    Clint nodded his head at one of his men and the man put the butt of his rifle to Robbie’s back. Robbie grunted loudly and toppled face first, barely getting his hands out in time to break the fall. Randell moved toward Robbie, but another one of Clint’s men pushed him away roughly.
    “You must take the Lord of the Air seriously or else you all may end up in the pit,” Jeb said, speaking in a low even tone, but still held all the malice as before.
    That sucked any of the funny out of the air. I took one step toward Jeb, but Clint raised his rifle and aimed in it my direction while shaking his head at me.
    Jeb took a moment to compose himself. “You cannot volunteer. He choses. Through me.” He stopped speaking for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in. “But this time will be different. Our newest member will make the selection.”
    He put out a hand to the small figure beside him and the figure removed its hood. It wasn’t much of surprise as we all knew it was Carla. What happened next wasn’t a shocker, either.
    “Who does the Lord of the Air want you to select?” Jeb asked leaning over slightly and getting close to Carla.
    She stepped past him and raised her right arm and pointed directly at me and said, “He will be the sacrifice. He deserves the transfiguration.”
    Somehow, I don’t think their Dark Lord had much impact on that choice. Old grudges die hard.
    “The choice has been made,” Jeb said in a serious, but satisfied tone. But he didn’t let end there. “And you all will be witnesses.”
    Two men moved up behind me and grabbed me by each arm and moved me to the head of the line. I tried to yank one of my arms free, but for my troubles, I got a barrel of a gun up the side of my head. The light show wasn’t like before, but it was impressive. My knees went weak as I wobbled for a few steps, but the two men kept me aloft.
    “Let us proceed to the altar,” Jeb said pointing across the field and we started to move. The hooded figures closed in around our people and the party got started with me as the special guest.
    I wished I had never been invited.
    The sun hung onto the horizon as if its existence depended on it, a thin orange line in the distance. Jeb’s people started a solemn chant like a wordless hymn. It certainly wasn’t going to be in the American Top 40, but it gave me the serious heebie-jeebies.
    What was coming up in just a couple minutes amplified my unease by a thousand fold.
    The sun winked out and several of Jeb’s people popped on flashlights and lanterns. It wasn’t that long of a walk across the field, but darkness and the fog made it seem like an endless tunnel. Jeb’s people kept up their monotonous chant though, making our passage even more unsettling.
    Jeb’s goons kept pushing me along as I contemplated what was left of my life. I re-played the scene on the highway a few more times. I wondered why Chuck had abandoned us. I kicked myself for not asking out that hot red-headed U.S. Marshall who worked two offices down from mine. All these and more can be seen in my little theater show of regret for the low, low price of nothing.
    I considered making a break for it, but I knew they’d either shoot me or beat me into submission. If by some miracle, I did escape, then one of the others would have to take my place. No, it was the steady and inevitable path for me. Maybe the fall into the pit would break my neck? I sort of doubted it.
    Something caused me to come out of my navel gazing introspection, but while in my haze of self-doubt and recriminations, I didn’t recognize it immediately. Had Jeb’s people changed the tone of the chant or did they suddenly go horribly off-key?
    It took me a few more seconds to recognize this addition to the music and it definitely was not any human chant. Or, at least, the chant of the living.
    I stopped dead in my tracks and