Page 29 of Expedition Westward

The chief acolyte gave up his useless firing. The robots and their demon birds were far out of range now. He turned toward Brother George.

  “Go join up with Sister Reedy and Brother Ralph,” he ordered. “Grab all the ammo you can and get well clear of the castle.”

  “Yes, Chief Acolyte!”

  Brother George dashed through the exit.

  Alone now, the chief acolyte’s resolve began to waver. He glanced about the room at the piles of demon spawn wreckage, then out the window at the crumpled human corpses below – including that of the precious Messiah.

  The end times are truly upon us.

  He sagged against the wall like a puppet with its strings cut. More than anything, he wanted to fling himself out the window and join the beloved Father in death, but he had no right to do that. Vengeance must be attained ... somehow.

  “Give me strength, Father!” he cried aloud.

  Never, since he’d first joined the Visionists, had he felt so weak and vulnerable. No longer was he chief acolyte, second in authority only to the Messiah himself, but confused and ineffectual Charlie Camp. A man of zero consequence whose narrow shoulders could not possibly handle the load they were being called upon to bear.

  Get a grip! Be worthy of the Cause.

  Hadn’t Father always said this day would come – that he would leave this earthly existence to prepare a place for his followers in heaven? That, as he reposed at the right hand of the Heavenly Father, he would designate a successor to carry on his earthly mission. It was up to his true believers to locate this successor and advance the holy Cause. It was up to him, Charles Camp, chief acolyte of the one true faith!

  He felt righteous power surge into his body. He would not fail! He pulled himself off the wall and rushed out the door. He pounded up the stairs of the main tower.

  I shall not fail! I shall not fail!

  Soon he arrived at Father’s private chambers. He threw open the door and entered, gun barrel first.

  “Anybody here?” he called.

  The place seemed empty, as dead as its former occupant. The chief acolyte shut and locked the door behind himself, cutting off the sounds of mayhem echoing throughout the castle.

  He stepped into the bathroom and looked around – also empty.

  In the chaos of this overwhelming debacle, those of insufficient faith were abandoning the Cause like rats off a sinking ship. Some had scattered into the mountains already, but others would be hiding in the myriad recesses of the castle, armed with weapons stolen from the fallen true believers.

  So few of us left now!

  They’d never be able to root out the traitors from their strongholds. The shepherd had been struck, and the flock had scattered. It was time to set off the ‘Hallelujah Bomb.’

  The chief acolyte smashed the butt of his rifle against a wall mirror. The glass shattered revealing a tiny safe. He spun in the doomsday combination numbers that only he and the slain Messiah knew. The safe door popped open.

  He withdrew a small remote control device. Without hesitation, he pushed the red button. The timer began counting down. When it finished, the explosive charges connected to the gas reservoir would go off, along with other bombs hidden throughout the castle.

  The chief acolyte did not know how many bombs there were. Only the Messiah and the demolition expert cult member had known where everything was. The Messiah was on the heavenly plane now, and the demolition expert had perished when he’d drunk the Nectar of Truth.