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FRANK WAS FIRST TO the entrance of the room, weapon at high ready. Ham was ten seconds behind him, but it was a long ten seconds. Frank spotted four men who must have felt the house was empty, because they were standing in a loose circle discussing their options in low tones.
As Frank listened, a middle-aged man with long, stringy red hair and horrible acne scars on his face and neck spoke. “He said to bring him the kid in the wheelchair, and the hospital says he’s been discharged.”
“I know that, numb-nuts, but you also said he’d be here or at his dad’s place. He wasn’t there, and he’s not here. So what next, genius?” said a large man with a gravel voice.
“If we go back without him, he’s not going to be happy,” observed a slightly overweight but otherwise pretty young girl who looked like she might be a teenager.
All four individuals were carrying long guns. Scarface had an AR platform and the pretty girl had a lever-action western rifle. But what brought Frank up short was the weapon Gravel Voice carried. Hanging from his relaxed one-hand grip was a Sentinel Arms Striker 12, otherwise known as a Street Sweeper. This particular shotgun had a 12 round drum magazine and 18 inch barrel; it was strictly an anti-personnel device.
“Why don’t you imbeciles all shut up and let me think?” barked the fourth man.
Obviously in charge, this man radiated menace. When he spoke, the other three all averted their gaze to the floor, and they took on a beaten posture. This man held a riot gun loosely in his left hand.
The sound of Ham’s chair became audible to all four intruders simultaneously, and Frank had just decided he needed to take out the big man first, even if he wasn’t the leader, but only if they refused to surrender. With four of them against him and a five-shot revolver, he felt doubtful about that scenario.
“The kid must be here,” said Scarface.
“Idiot, the wife is in a chair as well,” replied the big man.
As all four had begun to raise their weapon to a ready position as they turned toward the rear of the house; Frank knew his time was up. Stepping partially behind the cover of the alcove wall, he raised his pistol to point directly at the big man.
“Police, weapons on the floor, now,” he commanded.
Big man grabbed the fore grip of the shotgun and raised the business end toward Frank. A single round from Frank’s 357 Magnum penetrated the man’s shirtfront and snapped away the second button on his polo shirt. The big man took one stumbling step backward, still trying to raise his weapon.
Frank’s attention had already turned to the leader, but Scarface was frighteningly fast. He triggered the AR weapon even as it was still rising, and it barked a staccato line of bullet gouges across the wood floor in Frank’s direction. Frank had time to throw one diving shot at the man as he fell behind the wall.
He knew the sheetrock wouldn’t even slow down a rifle bullet at this distance, especially from a weapon capable of fully-automatic fire. Out of the periphery of his vision as he fell, he saw Scarface twist to his right and heard him cry out. Tagged you, bastard, Frank thought as he considered his next move.
Beginning at head height, a line of explosion erupted above Frank and began to descend in foot-long gaps. Each was accompanied by the explosion of a shotgun blast from the riot gun. Frank duck-walked around the alcove wall into the kitchen, intent on flanking the remaining two or three.
As he neared the edge of the wall from the kitchen into the living room, the bark of a large-caliber rifle added to the cacophony in the house and one of the cabinet doors in the kitchen exploded into fragments. The impact point was directly in line with where Frank’s head would have been had he peeked around the corner.
Someone knew what they were doing. They were trying to box him in, knowing they could continue to blast holes through the short wall until they eventually got lucky and hit him. Even a grazing hit from the high-powered rifle round or the obvious slugs coming out of the riot gun would take him out long enough for them to finish him off.
Ham had arrived at the hallway entrance to the living room, and before Frank could react, he turned into the room.
“No,” was all Frank could shout, as he dove into the living room from his side of the wall. He was desperate to draw their attention from the unarmed youth in the wheelchair. Frank had simply forgotten Ham’s abilities, and as he brought his revolver in line with the leader’s torso, Ham flicked his hand at the girl with the rifle and she vanished.
The leader had brought his shotgun to bear on Ham just as Frank fired. The heavy pistol bullet struck the leader just behind his right ear, exploding a fist-sized chunk of his skull against the living room wall. The leader collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been cut.
Scarface was struggling to bring himself into a sitting position against the wall next to the front door. He had no thought for his weapon; he was too busy trying to breathe. Frank’s bullet had torn through his right upper torso, nicking the Subclavian artery as it passed through the top of his lung, which was now filling up with his own blood.
“Help me,” Scarface whispered through bubbling, bloody froth.
“Who is he that sent you here, and why does he want Ham?” Frank asked dispassionately. A little voice in his head was saying you need to call for a bus, but he was ignoring it.
“I’m dying,” said the red-haired man, sweat pouring from his face as his body went into shock.
“Tell me who sent you and I’ll call an ambulance,” Frank repeated calmly.
Ham rolled up next to the drowning man, and as Scarface’s eyes rolled back in his head, he placed his good hand on the man’s uninjured shoulder.
“Begone,” he spoke softly, and Frank thought he was sending him away.
As Frank began to object, the man convulsed and a dark flash of power emanated from him. The man’s composure changed, and he sighed gently, as if pleased. Then his head rolled to the side, and his body convulsed once more as his death rattle escaped his bloody lips.
Removing his hand, Ham said, “I forced the demon out of his body and back into the Pit before he died, so his soul might have a chance at redemption,” Ham said reverently. “God showed me how, after I promised to save as many human souls as I could in the coming apocalypse.”
Tears were coursing down his cheeks, and he looked at Frank with wonder. “God loves us, and He wants us to succeed. But He says if we fail, it’s the end of the world as we know it. He says His prophet John was very accurate in his description.”
Clara rolled into the room, looking at Frank, Ham, and the carnage of her home. “We’ll need to find another home when this is all over,” she said sadly. “I’ll never be able to sleep in this house again.” Turning to her husband, she smiled, and her eyes flashed brilliant white.
“You’re such a good and faithful man, Frank Kratos, and my Father is very pleased with you,” Raquel praised.
“How can that be, when I’ve just killed three men?” Frank asked in awe. “Doesn’t that violate one of his commandments?”
“Those men had given their souls to Lucifer, and are lost by their own hands. And my Father said thou shalt not murder. Mankind has twisted that, along with much of his guidance, to suit their own peculiar needs.” Raquel answered. “But my Father has instructed this new young prophet on the manner by which he might turn the tide of the battle. We must hasten to Hell’s Gate without delay.”
“I’ll have to get Clara settled somewhere, so there’s no way you can go with us,” Frank rejoined. “Because there’s absolutely no way I can or will allow her in the path of danger.”
Light flared in Clara’s eyes, and Raquel smiled. “Even with an Archangel in residence?”
Frank looked dubiously at Raquel, and then acquiesced.
“Let me talk to Clara, please,” he replied. The light faded from her eyes, and Clara looked lovingly into her husband’s.
“My darling, I have seen a glimpse of what news Raquel brings back from her visits to her world, and the images God is sending with her are horrific. It is unbearable for me to consider not helping if anything I can do will change that outcome.”
Turning at Ham, she continued. “In this current future, the entire world is enslaved by demons riding human forms, and they treat mankind with contempt and utter cruelty. They murder and rape in wanton fashion and much of their progeny are demon-spawned. Within a generation, the planet becomes a dark pit of despair similar to where they have been for eons, which seems so wrong. If they wanted out of their despair, why bring it here with them?”
Tears welled on the cusp of her trembling lids, and Clara returned her gaze to Frank. “We must do anything, everything, to prevent this. No sacrifice is too great to save mankind.” The tears escaped her eyes and coursed unchecked down her pale cheeks.
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
Frank was searching through the pockets of the four dead assailants scattered around his living room. As he took various types of ammunition off their still forms, he said, “I’m gathering their weapons. I have a feeling we’re going to need all the firepower we can muster.”