Now.”
Down the convoy, two doors opened and the men piled out and came running.
LaRouche moved to the rear of the Humvee and opened the fastback. He reached in and grabbed his pack and then slammed it closed. By the time he situated the straps on his shoulders, Lucky and Joel stood next to him. An interesting combo with Lucky’s bright red hair and Joel’s white-blonde Q-tip top.
He pointed to Lucky. “You’re with us.” He turned to Joel. “Joel, you’re gonna drive this thing. There’s a little girl in the backseat. Go up to 7 Pines Road and make a left. Pull off and wait for us there. If we’re not back in an hour, or if you guys start taking contact, move back to the warehouse we slept in last night. Understand?”
Joel nodded quickly. “I got it.”
LaRouche shouldered his rifle and turned to his three companions, Jim, Wilson, and Lucky. “Alright. Let’s move.”
***
LaRouche led them into the woods on the right-hand side of the road, plunging in about a hundred yards until they could barely see the road. They skirted along as quickly but as quietly as they could, urgency pushing their footsteps faster and faster until they were almost running.
LaRouche couldn’t hear the screams anymore. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever even heard them in the first place, or if he’d just imagined them. Whether he’d heard them or not, now it was eerily silent ahead of them. Silent like a spider in a web.
Maybe he was being paranoid…
A single gunshot cracked through the woods.
LaRouche’s first instinct was to hit the dirt but he stopped himself at a half-crouch. He knew what a bullet sounded like when it was aimed in his direction, and what he heard was not that. What he’d heard was the clear and singular pop of a pistol round, and no hiss or zing or splitting branches that he would’ve heard if it were aimed at him.
He looked back at the others. They had followed his lead and crouched down a couple yards back from him, all three sets of eyes stretched open wide. He motioned with his head to keep moving, then rose out of his crouch, pushing on while the others fell into step behind him.
He shouldn’t be scared, he told himself. He’d been here before. He’d been in bad situations. He’d been in combat. He’d battled enemies and shot them dead. Nothing different about this, was there?
Was there?
Another gunshot.
Straight ahead of him through the thinning trees, the scene came into view as suddenly as if a curtain had been lifted. The forest stopped abruptly about fifty yards in front of them. A road. A narrow slab of blacktop extended out in either direction. There was an old passenger van, and a small pickup truck behind it. Huddled to the rear of the pickup were perhaps five or six men. They all stood with stooped shoulders, their hands wringing, looking about with worried eyes. Four men with rifles surrounded them. On their arms they wore the white band with the red cross-and-circle. The symbol of The Followers of the Rapture.
There was another man there, standing apart from the larger group. He was a tall man with a wiry head of gray hair and—oddly enough—a clean-shaven face. He wore an old pea coat that seemed a size too small for him, his pale wrists extending past the cuffs several inches. He held a pistol in his right hand. Kneeling on the ground before him was another man. The kneeling man wore a bright red knitted cap that stood out like a beacon.
The tall man in the pea coat began speaking. LaRouche signaled for the others to stop. He leaned up against a tree, turning his head just slightly as he tried to listen. The tall man did not yell, but his voice carried. He projected, like an orator. Like a preacher behind a pulpit.
“You have repented for your sins,” he said to the man in the red cap. “You have renounced Satan and all of his evils of this world, and you have accepted Jesus Christ and God as the true ruler of this earth. Is this true?”
Red Cap nodded,
Down the convoy, two doors opened and the men piled out and came running.
LaRouche moved to the rear of the Humvee and opened the fastback. He reached in and grabbed his pack and then slammed it closed. By the time he situated the straps on his shoulders, Lucky and Joel stood next to him. An interesting combo with Lucky’s bright red hair and Joel’s white-blonde Q-tip top.
He pointed to Lucky. “You’re with us.” He turned to Joel. “Joel, you’re gonna drive this thing. There’s a little girl in the backseat. Go up to 7 Pines Road and make a left. Pull off and wait for us there. If we’re not back in an hour, or if you guys start taking contact, move back to the warehouse we slept in last night. Understand?”
Joel nodded quickly. “I got it.”
LaRouche shouldered his rifle and turned to his three companions, Jim, Wilson, and Lucky. “Alright. Let’s move.”
***
LaRouche led them into the woods on the right-hand side of the road, plunging in about a hundred yards until they could barely see the road. They skirted along as quickly but as quietly as they could, urgency pushing their footsteps faster and faster until they were almost running.
LaRouche couldn’t hear the screams anymore. Wasn’t sure if he’d ever even heard them in the first place, or if he’d just imagined them. Whether he’d heard them or not, now it was eerily silent ahead of them. Silent like a spider in a web.
Maybe he was being paranoid…
A single gunshot cracked through the woods.
LaRouche’s first instinct was to hit the dirt but he stopped himself at a half-crouch. He knew what a bullet sounded like when it was aimed in his direction, and what he heard was not that. What he’d heard was the clear and singular pop of a pistol round, and no hiss or zing or splitting branches that he would’ve heard if it were aimed at him.
He looked back at the others. They had followed his lead and crouched down a couple yards back from him, all three sets of eyes stretched open wide. He motioned with his head to keep moving, then rose out of his crouch, pushing on while the others fell into step behind him.
He shouldn’t be scared, he told himself. He’d been here before. He’d been in bad situations. He’d been in combat. He’d battled enemies and shot them dead. Nothing different about this, was there?
Was there?
Another gunshot.
Straight ahead of him through the thinning trees, the scene came into view as suddenly as if a curtain had been lifted. The forest stopped abruptly about fifty yards in front of them. A road. A narrow slab of blacktop extended out in either direction. There was an old passenger van, and a small pickup truck behind it. Huddled to the rear of the pickup were perhaps five or six men. They all stood with stooped shoulders, their hands wringing, looking about with worried eyes. Four men with rifles surrounded them. On their arms they wore the white band with the red cross-and-circle. The symbol of The Followers of the Rapture.
There was another man there, standing apart from the larger group. He was a tall man with a wiry head of gray hair and—oddly enough—a clean-shaven face. He wore an old pea coat that seemed a size too small for him, his pale wrists extending past the cuffs several inches. He held a pistol in his right hand. Kneeling on the ground before him was another man. The kneeling man wore a bright red knitted cap that stood out like a beacon.
The tall man in the pea coat began speaking. LaRouche signaled for the others to stop. He leaned up against a tree, turning his head just slightly as he tried to listen. The tall man did not yell, but his voice carried. He projected, like an orator. Like a preacher behind a pulpit.
“You have repented for your sins,” he said to the man in the red cap. “You have renounced Satan and all of his evils of this world, and you have accepted Jesus Christ and God as the true ruler of this earth. Is this true?”
Red Cap nodded,
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