J. Gonzalez - They

Mike whirled around, reaching for his weapon. Vince jumped at the sound of Frank’s voice and for a minute the images he received were a jumbled mass: a handgun clattering to the ground; Frank struggling with the blond man on the ground; the sound of slamming car doors and running footsteps and Mike yelling “ Vince, duck !” Vince turned and saw two more clean-cut young men brandishing handguns cutting through the parking lot and he caught a brief glimpse of Mike raising his handgun and firing as he felt bullets whiz by, striking the car behind him.

Vince reacted on pure instinct. He slid underneath the nearest car and reached into his pocket for the semi-automatic handgun Reverend Powell had given him. He heard a volley of shots, heard shouts and screams and running feet as people ran for cover. He heard Reverend Powell cry out in pain, followed by another volley of shots and then excited shouts: “Get him, Joel, get him, get him, get hiiiimm !”

Then the scramble of running feet stopped and Vince saw a guy peering under the parked cars. The guy was two cars down from him. The man’s eyes blazed with hatred as he looked at Vince. He pointed a black handgun at him and Vince didn’t even think about it, he just pointed his own weapon and fired. He fired his weapon even as he was scrambling backward, trying to escape.

The guy squeezed off a shot of his own, then suddenly stiffened. He slumped down, eyes glazed open in death. Another sound of running feet and Vince was backing out from under the parked car, weapon held out, the cacophony of noise and panic enveloping him and then Mike was looming in front of him, his features panicked, out of breath. “ Come on, let’s go !”

Vince followed Mike, still keeping his head low. They rounded a corner and came to the next lane in the parking lot. Vince nearly stopped right there, frozen with fear and panic. There were two men that Vince didn’t recognize lying on the asphalt. One of the men had been shot in the back twice; he was still clutching a nine-millimeter pistol. The other guy was lying unconscious a few feet away, bleeding from his nose and ear. The guy that had been shooting at Vince was lying on his stomach, part of his body underneath a Buick, still holding his weapon. Mike expelled the spent clip from his firearm and slapped another one in place. His face was dotted with sweat. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

Vince followed Mike a few feet to where the others were. Tom Hoffman had been caught by surprise but had managed to draw his weapon. He was slumped on the ground by his squad car, moaning loudly, his hands pressed against his stomach to staunch the flow of blood. “Motherfuckers shot me!” he wheezed. “Motherfuckers… shot me!” His mouth sprayed a mixture of spittle and blood.

Frank Black loomed in front of them. “Are you okay?” His eyes were wide with fright.

“Where’s Reverend Powell?” Mike barked.

“They got him,” Frank said. “We gotta get the fuck out of here!”

“Where did he go?” Mike yelled, grabbing Frank roughly.

“He went to the van,” Frank said. He turned and began running to the van and Vince and Mike followed, not even caring that they were being seen by witnesses, not even noticing the screams and cries of shock and surprised outrage that were now emanating from the restaurant.

When they reached the van Vince saw that Reverend Powell had managed to get the sliding panel door open and climb in. He’d also taken the keys out of his pocket. He was lying on his side in the middle seat, his torso covered with blood. Frank grabbed the keys and leaped into the driver’s seat as Mike and Vince jumped in and shut the doors. Frank started the van and pulled out of the slot, speeding out of the parking lot onto Newport Road.

“Slow down!” Mike barked. “Slow down or you’ll get us killed.”

“You’ll get the cops on us, too,” Vince breathed. He kept looking at the road ahead of them and down at Reverend Powell, who was gasping for breath.

“Drive…” Reverend Powell gasped.

“He needs a doctor!” Vince said, feeling sick with dread. “We gotta get him to a hospital, he’s gonna bleed to death!”

“Negative,” Frank said as he headed up Newport Road.

“No,” Reverend Powell wheezed. “No… get me…”

“We can’t take him home, either,” Mike said, turning back to Vince in the rear. “Somebody had to have recognized him at that restaurant.”

“Get me home,” Reverend Powell said quickly, gritting his teeth. He was trying hard not to cry out from the pain. “Just get me to the house so you can retrieve your vehicle and get out.”

“I’m sorry,” Vince Walters said, feeling anguished at what had happened. “It’s all my fault.”

“None of this is your fault,” Reverend Powell said with a hiss. “It’s the Lord’s doing.”

“Bullshit,” Frank said from the driver’s seat.

“We’re deep in battle,” Reverend Powell said, gasping for breath. “I don’t take what happened to me personally. Our adversary is the most cunning, most dangerous being in creation. He will stop at nothing .”

“But why ?” Vince felt like screaming in his anguish. He hadn’t asked for Reverend Powell to be shot, hadn’t asked for any of this. He had nothing to do with The Children of the Night cult even if his mother was involved with them. He didn’t want to be involved in it. So why was he being targeted for death?

“It’s—” Reverend Powell paused as he closed his eyes in pain. Frank was driving well despite the seriousness of the situation. They were approaching Meadow Lane Road and Frank signaled for a left hand turn into the narrow country road. “It’s the will of God,” he finally said through gritted, blood stained teeth. “If it’s His will for one of us to die in battle for Him, so be it.”

“We’ll dial 911 for you when we get to the house,” Mike said. He took off his shirt and knelt down beside Reverend Powell and pressed the garment against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. “You’ll be okay.”

“ We can’t just leave him !” Vince shouted.

“You can, and you will,” Reverend Powell said, gasping for breath. “Help me into the house, then get your stuff and Maggie’s box and go! And do it quickly!”

“It isn’t right !” Vince said. He felt like crying from the frustration of their situation. He was kneeling beside the wounded man. “It just isn’t fair !”

“No, it isn’t fair,” Reverend Powell said, looking directly into Vince’s eyes. “But sometimes when you obey the will of God, that may not seem fair to you either. Abraham didn’t think it was fair when God asked that he sacrifice his only son for him. And he would have done it, too.”

“Which way do I go?” Frank Black barked. They had come to an intersection. To their right lay a farmhouse; to the left was open fields.

“Right,” Vince said.

“Do as I say,” Reverend Powell said from the rear of the van. “For your sake, for the sake of the world, take your stuff and the evidence Maggie collected and leave .”

“And do what with it?” Vince asked. He felt that they were losing a war that was already lost. “What’s the point?”

“We have to find this Mary Ann girl,” Mike said. He was sitting next to Reverend Powell, patting his shoulder and keeping another hand pressed on the shirt that he held over the gunshot wound. “Maybe she’ll talk to us.”

“Yes, find her,” Reverend Powell said. “And if you can…” He coughed violently. Mike Peterson held him back so he wouldn’t tumble out of the seat. “If you can, take this information to your contact. Take the information to the press. This group must be exposed.”