“Here, help me with Sara,” she said.
Nodding, he moved toward her and together they hoisted the young girl up. Then leaning the bulk of her weight on him, he followed Tori as she headed out.
He smelled like sweat and vomit and filth, and Sara smelled no better. His stomach cried out in hunger, and his parched lips longed for a drop of whiskey, vodka, gin—he’d even settle for a beer—but he would keep those things to himself and try to assist Tori as best he could.
Who knew, maybe he still had a chance to convince her she was following the wrong God, to get her out of this cult. If so, maybe they could find their way back into the NWU’s graces and live happily ever after. He did have contacts high up, people who might still trust him. It was a pipe dream, but it was all he had at the moment.
Several hours later, all of the aforementioned grievances had grown a hundred times worse. But how could he complain when neither Tori nor Brianna uttered a single word of discomfort. Baby Callie and Sara were another story. Brianna had just as hard a time quieting the babe as Thomas had in consoling Sara, who was having more difficulty detoxing than he’d had. Of course, her drugs were harder. Fentanyl, Tori had told him. The poor girl went from sweating profusely to shivering, from complaining of aches and pains to forgetting where she even was. Thomas felt for her. He knew a bit of what she was suffering, so he did his best to offer words of comfort and encouragement.
A few times when he’d been trying to encourage Sara, Tori had glanced at him over her shoulder with a smile. And that tiny gesture made it all worth it.
Either that or he was completely losing what remained of his reason.
They walked through abandoned neighborhoods, burnt fields, rusted playgrounds, deserted farmland and city back streets, avoiding cameras as much as possible and places where people congregated. How Tori knew what streets to take, what fields to cross, Thomas had no idea. She had no maps, no phone, no way to determine the best path. But she kept moving forward as if she’d taken this route a dozen times before.
They became experts at hearing the familiar buzz of an approaching drone and diving into a nearby bush or behind a structure to hide. Even little Carla did so without complaint and evenwithoutfear. How often did she smile up at him and giggle as if she alone knew a funny joke? How often did she slip her hand into his and grip it tight? He envied her innocence, her inability to assess the danger around her. She’d even made up an imaginary friend named Onafiel, whom she spoke to often. When she wasn’t humming some joyful tune.
The sun began to set as they continued down a rather foul-smelling alleyway behind a row of brick warehouses. Halting, Tori whispered for everyone to sit and drink some water—something they’d not done enough during the long day.
Removing the sling from her shoulder, Brianna laid a sleeping Callie on her lap, and stretched her shoulders, exhaustion weighing heavy on her features. Only then did Thomas realize what a strain it must put on her to carry a baby all day, not to mention nursing her.
Tori gulped water from her bottle, then sat beside her exhausted friend. “God will provide. Don’t worry. In fact, I smell something.” She lifted her nose in the air. “Food. Something good.”
Brianna nodded with a weary smile.
Thomas didn’t smell anything except his own stink. Releasing Sara, he helped her lower to sit. Then grabbing the bottle of water Tori held out for him, he stooped and held it to her lips. After she had her fill, he finished it off.
Tori rubbed the back of her neck, rose, and began scouting the area ahead of them. Within minutes, she returned and gestured for them to start out again. Every inch of Thomas's body screamed in defiance, but, thankfully, they only walked a few blocks before she entered the back door of a building and motioned for them to follow. That’s when he smelled the food—a mixture of spice and something he couldn’t place. Rice? Potatoes? Whatever it was, it made his stomach lurch.
“Tori,” Thomas whispered from behind her. “I’m not sure this looks safe.” Even though his stomach ached for food, any food, nothing was worth dying over.
Little Carla yanked on his jeans and stared up at him. “It’s okay, Thomist. The bright ones are with us.”
???
Onafiel smiled at his ward, Carla, and she smiled back. He loved it that the innocent could see into the spirit realm, for he knew that once they became tainted by the world, their vision became clouded.
“Come, Onafiel,” Arithem commanded. “Our real battle begins.”
Nodding, he followed his leader, along with Zarall, Tagas, and Anahel, the protector of the mother.
Together, all four warriors took a stance around the beast. The demons surrounding him hissed at them, but backed away, for they knew ’twould do no good to battle those whose mighty skills outdid their own.
The beast, however, smirked at them, then returned to his task as if they bore no threat.
“We longed to keep her from him,” Zarall said from beside Arithem.
“Aye, but ’tis the Commander’s will they meet. You heard Him. And now the time has come.”
“Aye, a test she must pass.” Zarall heaved a sigh. “I only hope she has the strength.” He glanced at the horde of slimy, shifting demons hovering behind their master. Hefting his ax, Zarall feigned a move toward them. They leapt back, and he smiled at their fear before returning his gaze to the beast. “If only we could...”
“We cannot. Not unless permission comes from the daughter of Eve.”
“But how will she know? He cloaks himself in light.”
Anahel nodded. “’Tis a powerful deception, the likes of which I have not seen on a fallen one.”
Zarall frowned, his friend’s declaration doing naught to ease his fears. “What can we do, then?”
