the airborne pickup connected with Brother Andrew’s chin, lifting him in the air and almost decapitating him. When Brother Andrew landed on the cement, Simon could tell he was dead.
The engines of both vehicles revved as they approached Sarah in the intersection. She closed her eyes and waited. Every part of her screamed to run. She wanted to open her eyes, to get to safety, but she had to fight her urges. When Vivian told her to do something, she didn’t ask why. She had saved countless lives listening exactly to every word Vivian had offered. Now it was time to save her own.
Vivian wouldn’t ask Sarah to kill herself. That couldn’t be what this was about. Her sister had inside information and when Sarah signed on for this automatic writing thing almost six years before, she didn’t come aboard half-heartedly. She jumped on with both feet and fully committed.
It was that commitment that allowed her to not only stand still and keep her eyes closed while her primal urges begged her to run, but to also smile.
It’s all in how you face it, she thought.
Tires screeched behind her somewhere. Her reflexes ordered her to spin on her heels, duck, move out of the way. Anything but stand in the middle of the road.
But all she did was open her eyes. She barely had time to register the back end of a taxi brush by her leg, ruffling her pants. People on the sidewalk stood open-mouthed, watching.
The pickup truck ten feet away bore down on her. She barely had time to scream as she stepped sideways to the right, out of its path. The driver must’ve seen the taxi sliding at him, but it was too late. The pickup hit the backside of the cab and rose in the air, hitting a man who had been standing behind Sarah. It momentarily lifted the man off his feet by his head. The man dropped to the ground, his head barely attached.
The pickup landed on all four wheels and skidded to a halt. Sarah’s knees unhinged. She dropped to the pavement, shook her head to rid her mind of the images and then looked up at the black overcoats.
The man who got hit in the head had been right behind her.
His face was white, covered in powder.
They’re here.
She spun and checked her surroundings. If one of those white-faced men got too close, she would die. She knew this and now understood what Vivian had done. By standing in the road, two vehicles speeding to make a yellow light had collided. That accident had taken out an attacker.
She got to her feet, legs shaking.
Another man in an overcoat lay on the cement, his head leaking dark liquid.
Correction. Two white-faced men down.
The taxicab’s backdoor opened and a man stepped out on shaky legs. A woman followed, her hair ruffled from the accident. She adjusted her top and pulled up her skirt. The driver of the cab got out and walked around his cab to examine the damage.
The pickup driver exited his vehicle from the other side of the intersection.
Then two men in black overcoats and white faces stood from a kneeling position behind the taxi where they had been examining their friend.
Anger surged through her.
“Who are you?” she asked from a dozen feet away.
“Good evening, Sarah Roberts,” the ugly one with the protruding forehead said. “We are the Rapturites. We’ve come to take you home. Won’t you join us?”
“What the fuck …” She took a step back. Then another.
They advanced.
A siren blared in the distance.
She reached for the weapon in her waistband, then remembered what Vivian had said. Sarah couldn’t use the gun. She couldn’t kill them.
But I can end this right here, right now. I can shoot them in the feet and leave them to the cops.
She brought her hands back to her sides. She had to listen to her sister.
Shit.
The ugly one waved to her. “Come, join us in Rapture. The time is upon us.”
“Yeah, sure,” she shrugged. “Okay,
The engines of both vehicles revved as they approached Sarah in the intersection. She closed her eyes and waited. Every part of her screamed to run. She wanted to open her eyes, to get to safety, but she had to fight her urges. When Vivian told her to do something, she didn’t ask why. She had saved countless lives listening exactly to every word Vivian had offered. Now it was time to save her own.
Vivian wouldn’t ask Sarah to kill herself. That couldn’t be what this was about. Her sister had inside information and when Sarah signed on for this automatic writing thing almost six years before, she didn’t come aboard half-heartedly. She jumped on with both feet and fully committed.
It was that commitment that allowed her to not only stand still and keep her eyes closed while her primal urges begged her to run, but to also smile.
It’s all in how you face it, she thought.
Tires screeched behind her somewhere. Her reflexes ordered her to spin on her heels, duck, move out of the way. Anything but stand in the middle of the road.
But all she did was open her eyes. She barely had time to register the back end of a taxi brush by her leg, ruffling her pants. People on the sidewalk stood open-mouthed, watching.
The pickup truck ten feet away bore down on her. She barely had time to scream as she stepped sideways to the right, out of its path. The driver must’ve seen the taxi sliding at him, but it was too late. The pickup hit the backside of the cab and rose in the air, hitting a man who had been standing behind Sarah. It momentarily lifted the man off his feet by his head. The man dropped to the ground, his head barely attached.
The pickup landed on all four wheels and skidded to a halt. Sarah’s knees unhinged. She dropped to the pavement, shook her head to rid her mind of the images and then looked up at the black overcoats.
The man who got hit in the head had been right behind her.
His face was white, covered in powder.
They’re here.
She spun and checked her surroundings. If one of those white-faced men got too close, she would die. She knew this and now understood what Vivian had done. By standing in the road, two vehicles speeding to make a yellow light had collided. That accident had taken out an attacker.
She got to her feet, legs shaking.
Another man in an overcoat lay on the cement, his head leaking dark liquid.
Correction. Two white-faced men down.
The taxicab’s backdoor opened and a man stepped out on shaky legs. A woman followed, her hair ruffled from the accident. She adjusted her top and pulled up her skirt. The driver of the cab got out and walked around his cab to examine the damage.
The pickup driver exited his vehicle from the other side of the intersection.
Then two men in black overcoats and white faces stood from a kneeling position behind the taxi where they had been examining their friend.
Anger surged through her.
“Who are you?” she asked from a dozen feet away.
“Good evening, Sarah Roberts,” the ugly one with the protruding forehead said. “We are the Rapturites. We’ve come to take you home. Won’t you join us?”
“What the fuck …” She took a step back. Then another.
They advanced.
A siren blared in the distance.
She reached for the weapon in her waistband, then remembered what Vivian had said. Sarah couldn’t use the gun. She couldn’t kill them.
But I can end this right here, right now. I can shoot them in the feet and leave them to the cops.
She brought her hands back to her sides. She had to listen to her sister.
Shit.
The ugly one waved to her. “Come, join us in Rapture. The time is upon us.”
“Yeah, sure,” she shrugged. “Okay,
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