Chapter VII

Kate awoke with a pounding headache. The sunlight pounded her eyes, so she opted to keep them shut and collect her thoughts. That’s when she remembered the man who had attacked her and proceeded to chase her for over two miles. Her eyes flew open and panic wracked her nerves instantly.
She looked around and found herself in a truck.
“What the fuck is going on?” she thought as she examined her situation.
She looked out the window and saw that she was at a rest stop somewhere. She saw that a seat belt was holding her in place and jumped when she noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that there was a man sleeping in the back seat. She screamed, thinking of the events that had taken place, and the man shot up. As she struggled to undo her seat belt, his hands clasped securely around her mouth.
“Stop!” he yelled at her as she continued to struggle. Her mind raced with panic, and stopping was the absolute last thing she was going to do. She bit hard into his hand, which caused him to yelp in surprise and retract the digit, which had begun to bleed.
Kate freed herself from the seat belt and opened the door, taking off at a dead run. The man bolted after her and proved to be much quicker than she remembered from the night before. She didn’t get very far from the truck when she felt her feet being kicked out from under her. A cloud of dust billowed into her face as she hit the ground, and the man straddled her back and forced her flailing arms down.
“So, this is how I’m going to die,” she thought. Her mind wandered back to the book on her lap a few days ago.
“Suicide”
Even though she’d wished for death, hoped for it, prayed for it … now, in this moment, she didn’t want to go. Not here, not like this.
She could feel his hot breath on her ear as he said something to her. Her mind was racing too fast for her to comprehend his words, and she continued to struggle with everything she had left.
Then, a firm slap to the back of her head dazed her enough to make her go limp, but not unconscious. Her mind swirled as she lay there. She braced herself as best she could, expecting to feel his hands start tearing the clothes from her body. But they did not, and she wondered what he was going to do.
“Look, bitch, I’ve had a bad fucking night, and I don’t need your shit right now,” he said with such a command in his voice that she was captured, unable to fight back. He continued.
“Now, if I let you up, will you please not try and run again? Wait … No. Better yet, if you try to run again, you’re just going to really piss me off, and you don’t want that, okay?”
Kate nodded her head, and felt the pressure on her back lessen. She rolled over and looked at the man kneeling over her. Her first impulse was to kick him in the balls and take off, but she noticed something different about the man. Something very different, indeed. He was tall, he was handsome. This wasn’t the man who was chasing her last night.
“Who are you?” she asked him.
“My name is Henry. Henry Burns.”
“Alright … what are you doing here?”
“I saved your ass last night.”
Kate paused. She didn’t want to remember last night, but she did wonder how exactly he’d saved her. Before she could start again, he was questioning her.
“Now, who are you?” he said, staring right at her exposed left breast. She followed his gaze to his subject of interest, flushed and quickly pulled the remainder of her blouse over herself.
“Stop looking at that, you fucking pervert!” she shrieked. The fact that he blushed and turned away relieved her. She knew, undeniably, that this was not the same man from last night.
Henry rose to his feet, and bent to pull Kate to hers. As she dusted herself off, he took off his jacket and offered it toward her.
“Thanks,” was all she could think of to offer back as she gingerly accepted the jacket. “My name is Katherine. Now, do you mind explaining what is going on here?”
“I’d like to know that myself,” he replied.
Henry steadied Kate as they walked and recounted the event from the night before to her, emphasizing his “strategic” attack on the man that was chasing her. As he finished, she looked up into his face and saw the same look she‘d seen on the faces of countless cops and ex-boyfriends - conceit. She secretly cursed the fact that, thus far, the only people she’d run into were a rapist/murderer and a self-absorbed prick.
“So, pretty lady,” he continued, “what brings you here?”
Kate could tell that he was trying to be friendly with the remark, and though she thought it was cheesy, it did help to ease her nerves.
“I saw a news report over CNN by a man in Lake Charles, and seeing how there’s been no one else around, I figured it was in my best interest to try to make contact with him. Speaking of which, where is everyone?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea. I was hoping maybe you knew something about it, because you and ape-man over there are the only two people I’ve actually come across since seeing the same newscast.”
At the mention of the “ape-man,” Kate followed Henry’s pointing finger towards a ridiculous looking figure lying on the ground with his hands and feet tied together behind his back. When she caught a glimpse of the rage in his eyes, she immediately recognized him as the man that had chased her for so long last night. Instinctively, she backed into Henry’s arms, which she was surprised to find wrapped around her.
She was even more surprised to find that she felt safe, comfortable in them. She didn’t exactly know what to think of this man, but there was something about him …
Kate removed herself from his embrace and blushed as looked him in the eyes. She had always hated people thinking of her as a damsel in distress, and here she was, practically fainting into this man‘s arms. She quickly composed herself.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said apologetically.
“I don’t mind, and don’t worry about it,” he said smiling. “He’s not going any where. I’m pretty good with knots and those are as secure as they’ll get.”
“Hey, asshole, you mind letting me up? My back’s fucking killing me since you left me like this all night, you prick!” the man said with unhidden animosity.
“Sure thing, buddy, just as soon as I start working on being retarded,” Henry replied.
Kate giggled, although it was a nervous one. Henry turned back to her, and guided her away from the truck until the man’s furious curses were nothing but high-volume gibberish.
“Who the hell is that guy? Why was he chasing you last night?” Henry asked.
Kate hesitated a moment. She took a deep breath and thought about how her head was killing her. She looked up at Henry, and decided to go ahead and answer him. After all, he had saved her from the same fate as the girl in the car. She owed him the truth.
She told him everything that had happened, from the point of her finding the girl‘s body. She explained that as she was leaving the scene the man grabbed her from behind and started fondling her and tearing at her blouse. In the struggle, she had managed to get away from him, but he didn’t give up and chased her to the rest stop.
Kate wasn’t sure if she should tell him about what the man had done to the dead girl, but she’d already gone this far. She told him about what the body had looked like, what it meant and how her assailant had referred to it as “his art” as he harshly spoke into her ear. As Kate continued, she noticed a shadow pass over Henry’s face. She really didn’t want to ask what they should do next, but she had to know.
“Well, Mr. Burns, what are we going to do with him?”
“It’s Henry … and I’m going to kill the twisted prick,” he said.
This startled Kate and before she could realize what she was saying, the words were out of her mouth. She had already told him no.
Henry stopped in midstride as he walked toward Long, turned to her and ask, “What? You want me to let him go?”
She took a step back at the thought of the man up and moving again. She thought of how those dirty hands had maliciously passed over her body and quickly shook her head.
“No, of course not. But we can’t just kill him, it’s wrong.”
Henry looked her in the eyes and walked back toward her. Under his gaze, Kate felt as if she might turn to stone.
“I … I don’t think I could be a part of that,” she stammered. “I … um … I … I won’t do it.”
Henry gestured toward the vehicle as he responded in a horribly cold tone:
“Then, get in the truck and don’t watch.”
She watched as Henry took her assailant by the rope connecting his hands and feet and dragged him behind the restrooms. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard Henry’s words proclaiming his abhorrence towards child molesters.
Then, there was the sound of a fist connecting squarely with a head.
Again.
And again.
When the sounds turned to a soft, wet, sucking noise she decided to take his advice and wait in the truck.

Chapter VI

Sebastian awoke the next morning at home and thought about what to do with his day. Usually, he’d start preparing for his sermon, but there would be no one attending church that morning. He rose out of bed and sauntered across the room to get dressed, walking to his closet and grabbing his priestly attire out of habit. He stared at it for a moment and replaced it.
"I guess there’s really no need for it today,” he thought. He replaced the garments in his closet, and looked at them feeling sad, but also relieved. The relief struck him as odd and when he thought about it, he realized just how much of a burden for him it was to wake every morning and tend to his “flock.” This recognition shook him to the core, right to the very heart of his religious values. He found the urge within himself to say that it was the Devil tempting him, trying to turn him away from God.
The disappearance of most of the human race weighed heavily on the priest, and he desperately wanted to turn to a higher power for answers. Throughout the course of his years as a clergyman, though, he had seen many prayers - both of his parishioners and of his own go unanswered. For the first time in a long time, he felt decidedly shaky in his convictions about God.
He realized that he wouldn’t need his frock for some time now, maybe not ever again. Suddenly, he couldn’t bear to look at his ceremonial garb and turned away from his closet, staring out the window. He didn’t know what to think or how to feel, but he couldn’t help but single out a meandering thought:
“What if Olaf was right? Are we truly alone?”
Sebastian shook the thought from his head, headed back to his closet and reached for his civilian clothes. He donned a pair of tan cargo pants and a long sleeve navy blue shirt. It was casual and fashionable, one of the vices that he allowed himself. His acquaintances seemed to always be poking fun at him for this, saying he was too old to be “hip” now. He was saddened by the thought of them not being around any more to do so now.
He went to his front door and opened it, finding Olaf in mid-knock as he did so. Startling the pudgy fellow brought a good-hearted chuckle from the priest.
“Good morning, my friend,” he said with a laugh.
Olaf regained his composure and smiled, albeit with a red tint to his cheeks. “Hey, Father,” came the reply.
Sebastian thought for a second about his actions earlier, and responded to him with, “Please, Olaf, you don’t have to call me that. Sebastian is fine enough.” The words felt strange as they escaped. He‘d never before refused his title.
“So what’s on the agenda today, Fath...? Erm… Sebastian?”
Sebastian thought about this for a moment. What was there to do? He looked around his yard and down the street. Of course, there was nothing but empty cars and houses. Empty - just like how he felt.
However, he wasn’t going to let Olaf in on how he felt. He needed to be strong for the both of them. He was a soldier, just like always. In the steadiest voice he could muster, he answered Olaf’s question.
“I say we do a little bit of shopping today.”
“Shopping?” replied the confused fat man. “What are you talking about?”
Sebastian gave him a wry grin. “Well, it occurred to me that there is not really any need for us to hold back any more - when it comes to our well being, that is - so, I think we should see what we can gather from our neighbors. There’s no need to feel ashamed about it now.”
Olaf looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights, so shocked was his stare. Sebastian had some idea that what he’d said would be shocking, but he had grossly underestimated its full effect. He was pretty sure he knew what Olaf was thinking, and he imagined it was something along the lines of: “What has gotten into the priest? I’d never have thought that I’d hear the man say anything of that nature. He’s quite possibly the personification of good.”
But Sebastian also knew that he had a good point. Olaf would not disagree with him - not about this.
“I guess you’re right. So which place are we hitting first?” Olaf asked.
“The army surplus is the best bet. The MREs have come along way since I was in the military, and they actually taste pretty good now.” What Sebastian also wanted to look for, but didn’t vocalize, was his desire to find a weapon or two as well. He had a feeling they might need some protection now, and he‘d be damned if he went without a fight.
“Good idea, sir. I like the way you think, and you know I can’t pass up a good meal!” exclaimed Olaf, who forgot about his apprehensions regarding his friend as soon as food was mentioned.

Chapter V

Henry found himself in Podunk, Texas, right near the boarder of Louisiana. He had no idea what the town’s actual name was. It was a fruit of some sort, apple or orange. He pulled his truck off the interstate when he spotted a rest area to his left. He pulled into the area, shut off his truck and stepped out into the relative darkness.
Henry stretched his back and took a look around.
“What the fuck kind of hillbilly lives in a place like this?” Henry asked aloud.
He saw a soda machine still lit up, which surprised him immensely, and it was located right next to a restroom.
“Good, two birds with one stone,” he thought.
He walked up to the vending machine and pulled out his wallet. As he drew forth a single from it, he stopped short. With a wry grin he replaced his wallet to his back pocket. “I got to piss something fierce, but when I get back, me and you are going to have a little chat about all those times you took my money,” he said to the machine, which, to his chagrin, didn’t show any fear.
Henry finished washing his hands in the filthy sink, dried them and began to walk outside. A noise caught his attention before he could break the barrier that led into to open air. It was a woman, screaming it seemed. He stopped short from fully walking outside and opted to peek his head out in the direction of the noise.
“Shit,” he thought. “I can’t see … it’s too dark.”
He looked towards the areas where there still were lights, but they were each about forty yards apart. Suddenly, like a moth to a flame, the woman he’d heard rushed under one of the lights, revealing herself briefly. The first thing that crossed Henry’s mind was how stunning she was, even if part of her blouse was torn and both knees were bloodied.
“Damn it, there goes my ADD again… And I’m a sick bastard.” He inwardly smiled.
A matter of seconds later, a man with a feral look to his face came bursting into the light. Maybe it was the beard he wore, or the fact that he was a hairy son of a bitch and didn’t have on a shirt, but he looked like a coyote hunting after a sheep.
Henry thought for a second about whether to help the woman, because the feral man seemed rather large to him. After all, he hadn’t seen another person in a couple of days, and he really had no idea what was going on.
At that moment, the woman eyed the restrooms and darted for them.
“Shit, guess I don’t have much choice now,” he thought.
Henry realized the woman’s intention as he stared. She was trying to barricade herself. He froze for only a moment and then blended into the shadow that was cast near the opening.
The woman came rushing in at full speed, missing Henry in the process, but crashing hard into the divider that was right on the other side of the entrance. She was out; there was no second guessing the sound of that impact.
As Feral came rushing toward the door, Henry knew he had to act swiftly. At the moment the man crossed the threshold, Henry was waiting. He shaped his right hand into a backwards L with his thumb and first finger perpendicular. As the man charged toward the entrance, Henry shot toward him with horrible speed, turned his own head to the left side of the man’s body. and let momentum do the rest. The feral man’s jugular came into contact with the angle created by Henry’s hand, and his wind pipe was crushed as he flipped backwards.
Henry stood over both bodies, now lying on the floor of the revolting restroom, the man gasping for air that would only trickle in. He admired his handy work.
With a smug smile, he looked at the man and said, “Henry Burns, nice to meet you.”
Henry pulled out a forgotten pocket knife that was clamped on his pocket, walked to the vending machine and unplugged it. “You’re getting off easy this time, but I’ll be back… Promise.”
He reached for the unplugged cord, cut it and went back to the prone man who was slowly beginning to catch his breath. With a swift kick in the face from Henry’s heel he, too, was unconscious.
Henry rolled the man on his stomach and hog-tied him. He figured that, of course, he could have just tied the man’s hands behind his back, but where was the fun in that? At least this was humiliating.
He walked to the unconscious woman next and searched her body, but found no form of identification on her. He figured she must have dropped her purse in the pursuit. Henry paused a moment and took stock of the woman, lying helpless at his feet. An evil thought passed through his mind, bolstered by the fact that there weren’t any more authority figures. He reached down, looking at the tear in her blouse where it exposed part of her breast. He moved it aside and could see that they were beautiful, firm-looking. He reached for her left breast, then withdrew his had immediately.
He looked at the man laying unconscious and hog-tied not six feet from where he stood. “After the same thing, weren’t you?” he asked the man. His question went unanswered by the man on the floor, but the question brought many more into the mind of Henry Burns.
“Okay, I know I’m a piece of shit, but God help me if I’m going to get that low,” he thought.
Henry recovered his wits and lifted the woman in his arms. Her head slumped against his shoulder as he carried her to his truck. He laid her inside and removed the keys. One could never be too careful.
Turning back toward the restroom, Henry felt his mind racing. There were so many questions … none of them with answers. He returned to the man and noticed a bulge in his back pocket. “There we go,” Henry said in surprise. He removed the man’s wallet and flipped through it. No money, of course, but who needed it now?
The wallet was pretty much empty … a couple of tattered business cards … an expired condom that was about four years old. Henry couldn’t help but laugh when he thought about just how horny this poor bastard must have been.
“There it is.” he thought, identification.
Harry Long of Osceola, Wisconsin was a very long way from home. Henry shoved the ID into his pocket and proceeded to do the difficult task of dragging the heavy man next to his truck.
“When the girl wakes up, it’s time for some answers.”

Chapter IV

It had only been six hours and about 400 miles since Kate had left home, but she made relatively good time.
That is, of course, until she ran out of gas. In her hurry to leave for Lake Charles, Kate failed to remember that gas stations were pretty much useless. She had pushed her Accord to its breaking point, and it had given out on her for good.
“Damn it, Kate!” she yelled out as she struck her fist against the dashboard, which was quickly followed by a sharp jolt of pain. She cried out and looked down at her hand. She’d let her frustration get the better of her again. Already, the knuckles were starting to swell.
“Great, just great,” she thought to herself as she rubbed her stinging hand.
She slumped down into the driver’s seat and stared out the window. More thoughts of suicide slipped through her mind and were quickly replaced by the urge to make contact with Olaf.
She grabbed her purse, took out the page torn from the atlas and began to mark where she was. It didn’t take her long to mark her spot on the map as “lost and fucked.”
Kate got out of the car and looked down the lonely highway. She stretched her arms, walked to the back of the car, popped the trunk and laughed at herself as she looked at the piles of luggage she had stuffed into her tiny vehicle.
“God, I am such a typical woman. Why the hell did I bring all of this? …”
She did a mental inventory of what exactly was in the suitcases and totes. Figuring that she should at least have some clothes on her journey, she pulled out her rolling suitcase and set it next to the car. She glanced at where it had been: lying next to her makeup bag. Another laugh escaped her. She really didn’t have a good reason as to why, but she shoved the bag into a nearby tote that was filled with food.
“At least I’ll look good for old Olaf,” she thought as she chuckled to herself.
At this, she paused and truly contemplated the seriousness of the “…if you were the last man on Earth” statement. God, she thought, I hope it doesn’t come down to that.
Kate knew what she was going to have to do. But she was exhausted, and - for now - she wasn’t going anywhere. She would spend the night in the Accord, and tomorrow, she’d resume her journey - on foot.
Thirteen hours later, road weary and drained from carrying so much for so many miles, or so she thought, Kate was praying that she would find some type of vehicle that might still be functional. She’d passed only two cars since she had to leave her car behind. Both were in some state of disarray: one with two flat tires and the other without gas. As she approached the next vehicle on her way, she had given up hope for something that would work in her favor. She actually started wondering just what would be in store for her this time.
The steering wheel is probably missing, or some other crap like that, she thought.
As she approached the vehicle, a Honda Civic, the first thing she noticed was the smell of rancid meat. She kept going forward, very cautiously, she noticed bloodied hand prints on the inside of the back window.
Kate stopped cold in her tracks. She’d seen this before, many times, in fact. She was a crime reporter, and her work had been her life. There was no scene she wouldn't visit, no cop she wouldn't sass. Most times, she could get close enough - be it by hard-nosed insistence or fluttering eyelashes - to get what she needed for her stories. Kate had always felt that the social obligation of the media was to deliver the truth, and if the truth was gruesome, so be it.
Truth was her job. She'd been damn good at it.
This time, though, the situation was different. It was here, now and right in her face. It was mocking her for being able to write with a steady hand a closed heart when it involved someone else but being so frightened that she wasn't even able to scream when she was actually involved. After a moment that seemed like time had perpetually stopped, everything rushed in at her in full speed to make up for the delay. All the thoughts that were in her head tore to the surface like a tsunami, when a second ago they were but a slow drip.
She let go and screamed for all she was worth.
But, yet, she still couldn’t move, she couldn’t bear to take her eyes away from the horrible imagery. Slowly, very slowly, Kate started walking to the door, afraid to open it and just as scared to leave it there. She stopped again before she reached to point of no return: the point in which she would actually be able to see what lies in the vehicle.
She collected herself and thought about how many different murder scenes she’d been at; and how often she had been at the morgue after the police made her leave, looking at the bodies and talking to the coroner about the cause of death.
She forced herself to forget that each of those times officers had been present. Even though they had usually been uncooperative assholes, their presence always lended an air of calm and protection - something Kate desperately needed.
Steeling herself, she took another step, looked inside the window and shuddered.
Inside the car was a young girl, maybe no more than fifteen. She was completely nude and bruised all over, especially around her pelvic bone and chest, and her face was so black and blue that the features appeared to collide. Nevertheless, Kate's experience in dealing with corpses led her to believe that this girl was once beautiful. And also due to her expertise in situations of this sort, she knew that this was a murder-rape.
Kate fell to her knees because she could not hold herself up any more, but she was glad of the fact because it took away the horrible imagine inside the car. She let the tears of frustration and fear come to her. This girl was the only other person she'd seen in the flesh in days, and she was dead.
Then, a thought struck her, a curious one that came unbidden: She remembered a time when she was covering a story similar to this; another murder-rape of a juvenile. She had spoken with a psychiatrist about the behavior patterns of pedophiles, rapist, and murders, and there was one thing from that conversation that vividly stuck out in her mind.
“The person in question rarely leaves the scene of the crime for too long, especially if they feel they have no fear in returning,” the shrink had told her.
Kate bolted up, and looked around nervously. It hit her just then that it was past dusk and there was very little time left with the progressively more precious sunlight. She hadn't realized how long she'd been there, but she knew that it'd been too long. She started to gather up her things then and began walking hurriedly in the opposite direction from where she had come. She needed to find shelter of some sort, and she needed to find it fast.
Harry Long watched her walk away from his art. With a content smirk, he decided to hang back far enough that, with the dim light, she wouldn’t be able to see him. He preferred his women to be sixteen and younger, but with the apparent lack of choice that had just recently taken place, he thought that he could make an exception at least once. He too, made his way easy on Interstate 10.

Chapter III

Father Sebastian Xavier was no stranger to despair and hardship. Having served in both the Vietnam War and the Gulf War, he became as hardened as any person could become. He was hoping to get some sort - any sort - of feeling back, and that was the deciding factor as to why he became a priest. After years of spilling blood and taking lives, he thought he needed to “give something back,” so to speak.
When he returned from the Gulf War, he was nothing more than a shell of a man, which made it easy for the Catholic church to mold him. He fell into the demands of the clergy easily and found it comforting to again be taking orders, just as he had in the military. When he was ready, he immersed himself completely in the church and divided his time by hosting masses, overseeing charity events and spreading the word of God. He loved his life, and was very good at what he did.
At 65-years-old, he was in peak physical condition for his age. If the Church would have allowed vanity to be something of a good thing, he would have been filled with it, and rightfully so. He still inwardly took pride in what his strength had accomplished in a fight he had a few years back - a fight that began when a group of three radical Atheistic men noticed his clerical collar and decided to give him a little trouble.
It started off innocently enough as a verbal argument, which in no way bothered Sebastian. He had always loved debating, and wasted no time in using the full scope of his powers to cut into the men. When the group found themselves in the position of being made the fools due to his uncanny wit and logic - odd traits to find in an official of any religion - they became overly frustrated. The tension rose, and things were got out of hand. The first mistake the Atheists made: One of them poked Sebastian in the chest. There weren't many things he couldn't handle, but that action, from anyone, really irked him.
Sebastian lost control at that moment, and he grabbed the man's wrist with his right arm, twisted it back and around, and head-butted the screaming man. He fell back into his primal instinct to fight, which the Marine Corps had sharpened to a razor's edge. Sebastian had taken great care to make sure that edge would never dull. By the time the first man had hit the ground, another one was already wading in with a punch. Sebastian ducked under the blow, came around behind the man while he was still fully extended and gave him a swift, but hard, punch to the kidneys. The man fell to his knees, coughed up a little blood, and wondered about the curious feeling of how one of his ribs now had a lot more play in it. The third man eyed the Father, looked at his two friends, and said he was sorry and slowly backed out of the room.
Even though it has been a defining moment in his post-military existence, Sebastian had decided never to share the tale of his fight with his brothers in the church. Even though he knew he should be, he wasn‘t ashamed of it. But he had an image to uphold. He knew he would be a soldier until the day he died, but now, he was soldiering for God.
He snapped out of his daydream and thought back to the moment at hand. For the past five days he had been looking for answers, just as much through prayer as footwork. "Where is everyone?" he thought aloud, probably for the hundredth time that day. The only contact he had made was his friend, Olaf Wiig, whom he had found crouched, crying in a corner of his own office.
Olaf's appearance had been unnerving, even in the mind of the Marine-to-priest Sebastian. He had seen many people in various states of hardship, but when he had first found Olaf, he couldn't help but to think the worst. The teachings he put the very stock of his life in had taught him that hell is complete separation from God - to be completely alone.
A shudder ran down Sebastian’s spine, and he thought about his situation.
Olaf had told him what had transpired up to the point of their meeting, which wasn't much different from Sebastian’s own situation. Five days ago, he had woken up, the same as he had every other morning. But, this time, he found no one there.
Sebastian didn‘t have any real answers, but he suggested to Olaf that not everyone could be gone. After all, they had at least found each other.
Olaf told him about his desperate cry for help over the CNN network. “I just got done doing it! I mean, you walked in right after it was done! It was like a miracle, Father!” Olaf blurted, tears of relief and happiness running down his ample cheeks.
“Calm down, my son! Everything is going to work itself out. It is God’s way,” Sebastian cooed to him, hoping to get the man to at least stop crying.
Olaf snapped his head up and stood erect, as if the priest’s words were equivalent to something ridiculing his mother. Wiping the tears from his eyes, he glared at Sebastian and steadied his quivering chin.
“Father, I don’t think God wants us any more,” he said firmly. “I’m going home to clean up. I’ll be back in 45 minutes.”
Sebastian sat down, stunned. He’d heard people from his Church say those exact words many times, but never had he heard them with such clarity. Not since his military tenure had he found himself in a situation where those words could truly mean something to him.
His mind was full of questions: What of the disappearances? Has it just happened in this town? Is it real? Has God really forsaken us?
He felt a heavy sense of abandonment that he couldn't quite explain. But there was one lingering word that kept coming unbidden into his mind.
Revelations.

Chapter II

At home, surrounded by everything she thought could be intellectually beneficial, Katherine "Kate" Anderson, sat down and flipped through a book entitled "Suicide" by Emile Durkheim. It was a subject that she had been thinking heavily about for the past two days. Ever since the day everyone left. She didn't like to think of it as "disappeared" because the idea of people just leaving into thin air disturbed her too greatly, so she decided that everyone simply left her behind. It made her sanity a touch more stable. Ironically, the book that lay ignored in her hands did little to ease her mind. She couldn't stop herself from crying as she contemplated the loneliness she was feeling, and the idea that she would now be alone until the day she died. "At least I could see everyone sooner if I just had the balls to go through with this," she mumbled to no one in particular. Her television set, which had been on for sometime now with a blank screen, sputtered once, again, then jumped into focus.
"I don't know if there is anyone to get this message, but my name is Olaf Wiig. I'm a camera man who works for CNN and I was able to route all signals into a single channel in hopes that someone will get this. I'm alone. I'm the only person here, or anywhere in the city. I know that I must sound insane but you have to believe me! For Christ sakes, someone has to hear me! I'm in Lake Charles, Louisiana and I am trying to gather anyone capable... Anyone at all, to come here, please! I have plenty of food and water, and, apparently, there are many vacancies in this town. If anyone can hear or see me, please, make your way towards me. Please...."
As Olaf hung his head and started to cry, Kate leapt to her feet and ran to one of her many bookshelves. She scanned quickly, looking for a map or atlas of any sort that could show her just where in the Hell Lake Charles was in Louisiana. The name sounded familiar to her. Probably because of her job as a reporter, she had heard of it in some story some time back, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. No matter though, she thought, I have to get my ass over there as soon as possible. Kate didn't realize it, but when she found her atlas, tears started to roll from her eyes. The subconscious thought of reconnecting with someone, even someone like this Olaf person, was enough to overwhelm her despair. She found the section containing maps of Louisiana, and searched all over for Lake Charles. She took a deep breath after five minutes of heavy concentration, steadying her thoughts and her hands, and looked more intently, once again. There! In the lower South Western side of the "heel" she spotted it. Right near the Gulf of Mexico. She tore the page out of the atlas, folded it, and stuck it in her purse. She began to gather all of her belongings that she found essential into various suitcases and bags.
After loading up her car, she double checked the map. It seemed that it would take her at least three, maybe four days, to reach this place. Any thought of turning this offer down was shot out the window as she looked around the street. Nothing. She had to get to this town and fast, before she went completely insane. "Ok, Kate, it will all be ok soon," her voice whispered inside her head.
The glazed over eyes that stared at her from the next block seemed to be seeing nothing at all. Nothing but hunger.

Chapter I

Henry Burns was still in shock even though it had been three days since he had seen the message flash across the glass of his television screen. The message was a cry for help from an aging, desperate cameraman who lived in some port town in Louisiana called Lake Charles. He chuckled inwardly, in a morbid way, as he thought to himself about how he was more surprised that a camera man was giving a news flash instead of the fact that he had not seen a single human being in two days. Then again, Henry was never given credit for being completely sane. As it was, he was already making his way there, to meet up with this camera man, Olaf Wiig.
Now, shock can come in two different forms; an unpleasant or pleasant surprise. The difference between a child unwrapping a big box and finding a puppy inside, and a child staring at a package in the mailbox with blood dripping from it and wondering just where his parents really have been.
Five days ago was the time that Henry found his puppy. He'd always hated the human race, mostly because of their sick perversions, angry mobs, and "Holier than Thou" bullshit religions, all of which he had vigorously partaken in. And now, it had seemed they were gone, with no explanation whatsoever. It truly frighten him for the first twenty four hours; the searching for friends, which didn't take very long, for he was able to count on three fingers the number of friends he claimed; looking for authority figures; trying to contact his family. After sixteen hours of nonstop, adrenaline driven, quest for contact, Henry had collapsed back into his bed and fell fast asleep. When he awoke, he seemed to be truly happy. Fear, anger, and frustration had left him. Until this Olaf had shown his face and that wining, wheezing, tear-filled cry. Henry didn't know why it upset him so much to see someone still alive, but damn it, it pissed him off. He decided not to think about it, and popped in his cd of Sputnik Monroe. It helped distract him when these thoughts came to his head. The cd had seen some serious use.
He packed his bag for a nomadic journey; nonperishable food items, a .45 pistol with plenty of ammo, two spare tires loaded in the back of his F-150, plenty of clothes, and a hose to siphon gas when he got low. He wasn't planning on returning home any time soon, if ever. He'd always wanted to see the world, anyway, so what better time then now? He shivered with a hint of ecstasy at the thought of being able to go anywhere and do anything without someone constantly watching over his shoulder. He licked his lips in anticipation and weaved in and out of the empty cars that littered the interstate, then started to make his way East on Interstate 10. To a new life. And that pudgy little bastard with that annoying whine.

Beginning

Ok, guys. I'm creating this blog to start showcasing my writing. I'm throwing in a story that I wrote some years back, with the help of an amazing editor (Thank You Maran). I'm going to be putting up a chapter a week. If memory serves, there are only 13 or so chapters so far and I haven't the slightest idea where I'm trying to take this story, so any and all feedback is welcome. Where would YOU like the story to go? What do YOU think needs to be changed? What would YOU like to happen? I'm going to love hearing from you guys, that is if I hear from anyone. So please, take your time and check it out. I hope you enjoy it and give me ideas on where it should go. Constructive criticism is very welcome. Other criticism can me shoved down your fn throat. Thanks!

-Clay