“Vicky! He’s awake!” She squeezed his hand tighter and hovered over his face. “Stay with me, Roger. Do you hear me? Stay with me. Vicky’s prepping the O.R. and she’s gonna fix you right up. You’ll be good as new before you know it.”
Roger fought the urge to scream as the pain increased and clenched his jaw tight. He had to put on a show of toughness for his bride to be. He couldn’t let her know how much he hurt.
He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her and was shocked as a scream echoed in the small infirmary. It took him a moment to realize it was him.
Candy appeared over his face again, her reddened eyes filling with tears again as she spoke. He couldn’t hear her as the thudding in his ears increased to block out all other sounds.
Vicky appeared in his line of sight with a syringe. He didn’t feel her jab the needle into him and he barely caught the word “morphine” before he noticed his vision getting blurry.
He looked back at Candy and tried to apologize for worrying her. He knew that she had the weight of the world on her shoulders, what with being pregnant.
Roger’s fuzzy mind focused on that one word: Pregnant. His lover was pregnant. It was his child. He forced himself to suck in air, filling his lungs completely.
He had to fight the darkness. He had to remain alert. He had to keep fighting. He had to stay alive.
He was going to be a daddy.
Roger turned to face Candy again and gave her a smile. He was going to be a daddy and it was all thanks to her. He opened his mouth to tell her how much he loved her when the world went dark.
Simon shook his head to keep his vision clear. Between the blood lost and the liquor he sucked down, the world was become fuzzy. Fast.
Clyde steadied him as the bowmen nocked the next round of arrows. Clyde pressed the bottle of lighter fluid tightly to Simon’s hand; he had to stare at the rags for a moment before he squeezed the clear fluid onto them. He watched as Clyde lit the arrows, then the bowmen looked to Simon for the order to fire.
Simon stared at the pretty flames and smiled to himself. The bowmen began to worry as he swayed side to side, his eyes locked on the arrows.
Clyde yelled something and pointed. Simon had to force his eyes away from the mesmerizing flames to see what the commotion was about. It took him a moment to realize that the white lights pointed at them was a vehicle.
He stumbled back a step and stared in awe as his bowmen loosed their flaming arrows at the rapidly approaching truck.
Simon’s world spun as Clyde tackled him to the ground and the truck crashed into the stand of trees they were using for cover. He barely caught the outline of one of his bowmen shuddering between the tree trunk and the front of the truck.
In Simon’s alcohol-dazed mind, it appeared as though the hunter was performing a ritualized dance. A dance of the dead.
Clyde lifted him to his feet and Simon caught the silhouette of a large, hairy man stepping around the front of the truck, the headlights blacking out all detail of the walking giant.
Simon reached out with his good arm and gripped Clyde for support just as Clyde’s head exploded; dark blood and gray matter splattering the side of Simon’s face.
He spun and landed hard on the dusty ground, his good arm unable to support his weight as he rolled to his side. With a grunt, Simon pushed himself onto to his back and stared up at the giant standing over him.
The synapses in his brain fired, connecting old memories as the man’s face came into view. I know you.
Simon pointed at Savage with his good arm and gave him an evil grin. “I know you.” Simon chuckled to himself as he tried to prop himself on his good elbow. “I killed you.”
Mike bent low and snarled at the man who was once his leader. “It’s your time, cockroach.”
Simon laughed as his brain processed the words. He knew those words. They were the words he’d used in “the before.” Simon lay back on the ground and pointed at Mike. “Simon says…DIE.”
Mike shook his head at the snarling beast mocking him from the ground. He raised the rifle and pressed the barrel to his forehead. “No resurrecting from this one, you bastard.”
Simon leaned forward, pressing his forehead tighter to the barrel. “SIMON SAYS DIE!”
Mike stiffened, his eyes wide and a mask of fear painted his features. He tried to force his trigger finger to apply pressure but it was as if his brain had been disconnected from the nerves required to do so. He watched as his world tilted to the side and his head impacted the hard earth…a wooden spear thrusting from the back of his neck and protruding through his throat.
He blinked rapidly, the dust scratching at his eyes as Simon came back into view. Mike wanted to curse the man, to reach out and crush his skull with his bare hands. As his vision began to grow dark, he groaned inwardly.
He really didn’t want Simon to be the last thing he saw on this earth.
A Note from the Author
From the desk of Heath Stallcup
A personal note-
Thank you so much for investing your time in reading my story. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment and leave a review. I realize that it may be an inconvenience, but reviews mean the world to authors…
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