Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

Many of the group smiled. Others cast their eyes around nervously.

"I fight well. I will leave it to you to judge if it from valor or deficiency. You should know this adventure will not be under my command. Mr. Jon Brewer will hold the reigns and I have pledged allegiance to him. Together, we will deliver a blow to our enemies."

Ross boomed, "Who’s with the General?"

Several of the volunteers-including McAllister’s officers-yelled, "Hoo-rah!"

Ross stepped closer to the group and glared at those who had not yelled, eliciting a cough, a snicker, and finally more "hoo-rahs".

"Mr. Ross, take a team to the farm and retrieve our mounts and wagons. Ms. Kaufman, dust off our collection of things that make big bangs. Impress a few of our volunteers here to help with the heavy lifting; you mustn’t damage those pretty nails of yours."

"Right away, General." Her voice spoke first soft then roared, "All right, I need four strong backs who ain’t afraid of work! FALL IN!"

The group dispersed. Jerry Shepherd approached.

"How goes assembly, General?"

Stonewall tipped his head politely. "My group will be ready in a few hours. I believe Mr. Brewer’s decision to go on horseback to be sound. We can not depend on fuel resources out there in the wilderness."

"Agreed. You’ve been outside of this valley, Garrett. You’ve seen things."

"Indeed."

"Both Trevor and now Jon, we’re following fellas who haven’t seen much of what really is going on out there."

Stonewall smiled, "I suspect we will have to provide assistance. I have thrown my lot in with Mr. Stone. I will do what I must."

"I reckon that’s true. I’m just not quite sure all of these folks know what they’re in for. This ain’t no Saturday night cruise."

"Indeed not, Mr. Shepherd. Indeed not."

– Jon Brewer, Danny Washburn, Reverend Johnny, and Kristy Kaufman gathered in the Command Center

Jon told them, "We're keeping the party to a minimum to not attract attention."

Danny asked, "Will you have enough fire power when you get there?"

"Fear not, for He shall guide the faithful with his sturdy hand," Reverend Johnny added his voice to the discussion. "This is one disciple of the Lord who is never short of two things: faith or ammunition. We will cut a swath through the fields of-"

Jon interrupted, "Gotchya, Rev," and then to Kristy and Washburn: "You two will be in charge of things around here for the time being. Hunker down and keep a low profile. Your biggest worry is the K9s. So far, they’ve been keeping with their standard patrols and whatnot. Who knows what will happen the longer Trevor is away."

Washburn said, "Hey, don't worry," then threw an arm around Kristy who scowled. "Me and the little lady here will keep a light on for ya'."

– Trevor awoke in the room bound to the table. The bugs were gone-perhaps a long while ago-but it did not matter: the sensation of the crawling mass remained, ingrained into the nerve endings throughout his body.

The hideous torture-spider had vanished, possibly hiding nearby in the dark. The room still rumbled that scary sound as if he were inside the belly of a living being or a giant machine.

"Our great leader faints at the sight of a few bugs." Nina appeared at his side but he did not see her at first; his attention remained on his ordeal.

Stop it! Stop it! I'll do anything you want! Make the pain stop!

The sight of her cut a tiny path of awareness through the howling in his head.

"Nina…?" He heard his own words and realized the seals were gone. That gave him small relief and he took hold of that; focused on it and muffled the anguished cries in his mind.

She spoke but, again, sounded as if she ticked off bullet points: "You killed Scott. You're a murdering bastard."

He heard the raging hatred pervading her voice as if a fire burned inside and threatened to consume her.

"I don’t understand what's happening," he croaked through a dry mouth.

"I saw you kill Scott. I saw you kill him in cold blood. You didn’t think I’d remember but I have a clear memory now. I hate you!"

"Nina, listen, somehow they gave you-they gave you these memories. It's a lie."

He closed his eyes and heard Lori Brewer say, "She just a lonely little girl."

The Bishop walked into the room and quietly watched the exchange.

"Oh Nina, what have they done to you? I’m sorry…I’m sorry we didn’t find you quicker. It had to have been when the helicopter crashed. They got to you first."

"Go to hell."

"I care about you, Nina. I have for a while now. I just didn’t admit it to myself. Maybe if I had said something earlier. I’m sorry I let you down like I let Sheila down. "

Trevor did not see any of the telltale blotches on her skin.

"You don't have any blotches. You haven't started turning yet. You might still be saved. Fight them, Nina."

She ran a hand over her cheek as if searching for deformities.

The Bishop stepped forward and grasped her shoulders.

"It’s okay, my dear. You are getting your revenge."

Nina's anger returned. She glared again at Trevor and then stomped away.

The Bishop watched her go. "Amazing, isn't it, what these emotions can do to your kind."

Trevor spied the torture-spider creeping o the ceiling. The screams in his head grew louder. Soon they would grow louder to his ears, too. Nonetheless, he stiffened and tried to play his role.

"Who are you? Why-why have you invaded Earth? Who is Voggoth?"

"Oh blessed Voggoth! Your people often speak as if there is a part of your God in you, but that is not true. Voggoth gives of himself and spreads his word by spreading himself. Voggoth is the greatest of the nine. He was the first, he is immortal, and he remains the only true God. The others desire to be him, but they are unworthy."

Trevor trembled uncontrollably as the torture-spider stopped overhead.

"Soon Voggoth will encompass this world and many more like it. Then his glory will be even greater for he will be one of only eight and your people will be his children."

The torturer pounced, encircling the platform like a cage and brandishing a massive, fury orifice throbbing with vile liquid.

"This sensation will be quite disturbing, Mr. Stone. It may feel as if you’re being eaten, but rest assured it is only a feeling."

– The sun remained behind the eastern horizon yet licks of orange teased the sky. A mist hung over the lake and the cold morning dew made everything feel fresh and new.

The rescue force gathered on the grounds to the sound of freckle-faced Benny Duda-Stonewall's 12-year-old bugle boy-playing assembly on his trumpet. Or something like it.

Shep, Reverend Johnny, Stonewall, Ross and eight volunteers comprised Jon's team.

Shep shouted, "Okay, let’s do a little roll call. Ah, you there, get things started."

A Hispanic male saved from the Red Hands raised his left arm and called, "Sanchez!"

A man in his early thirties with a potbelly and a cowboy hat: "Name’s Gruder."

"Tolbert!" Cried a broad-shouldered black man who had served as a guard at the nearby Chase maximum-security prison.

The remaining five all belonged to Stonewall’s original troop.

A slightly older fellow with a bald scalp whistled and answered, "Whiskey!"

"Huh?" Shepherd tilted his head to hear better.

Stonewall clarified, "That’s his name."

"Oh."

Next came a black woman in her early twenties. Before she spoke, Stonewall McAllister said, "We are familiar with you, Miss Simms. Please endeavor to shoot the correct people."

"Don’t worry Garrett, I only shoot the ones who deserve it." She directed a wry smile and narrow eyes at him. Stonewall swallowed hard.

A burly man in a plaid shirt and hunting cap shouted enthusiastically, "Tucker! Sir!"