The Devil's Pact - S01 E326

Story 21 hours ago

The Devil's Pact - S01 E326

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 326

"47," I said, trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Mark is captured. The Nextels are probably compromised."

"I understand, mam," 47 replied.

Her hand shook as she picked up her Nextel. "47 to all units, communications no longer secure. I repeat,

communications not secure."

Then she tossed her Nextel out the window.

Mark was captured. My mom wrapped her arms around me, holding me to her and suddenly all my emotions were pouring out of me as I sobbed into her breast. She stroked my hair and rocked me gently, just like she did when I was a child.

"Oh, Mom, what am I going to do?" I cried.

"I don't know," she whispered. "We will figure it out."

In thirty minutes we reached Boeing field; I sobbed the entire way. We passed through the security gates and raced to the hanger. Our flight crew was waiting. Once we bought this plane, we moved our pilots, Joslyn and Lydia, here just in case.

Lydia was waiting outside for us. "Miss," she greeted, her face pale with fright. Like all our close employees, Joslyn and Lydia were bound to Mark with the Zimmah ritual. "What is going on?"

I opened my mouth to answer, but more tears leaked out of my eyes and I couldn't bring myself to say what happened. Mark was captured. What was I going to do? just climbed on board and sat down in First Class, pressing my face to the cold window.

I love you, Mark, thought to him. Stay strong! I will find a way to save you. I just wished I believed myself.

"Love you, Mark sent back and I could feel his fear.

Everyone else was boarding. Mark's mom Sandy squeezed my shoulder before she found a seat next to Betty, her girlfriend. My Dad and Mom sat next to each other. Mom was still naked from our lovemaking. Hell, was too. There hadn't been time to get dressed. All I had on was my wedding ring, my locket, and my protective amulet.

"It'll be all right," Missy, my younger sister, promised. She grabbed my hand, squeezed it, then leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. Then she sat down next to her boyfriend Damien.

Mark's sister Antsy and her girlfriend Via were the last of our family to board. Only Shannon and her fiancee were missing. But they were in Chicago attending a conference for George's job. The sluts boarded next and Lillian sat next to me and hugged me.

"It will be okay, Mistress," she whispered. I wished I could believe her.

We waited for Squad E. They managed to get clear of Thun Field ahead of those soldiers and arrived fifteen minutes after we did, piling into the plane. Lydia closed and sealed the door, then sat down in the cockpit. We started taxling to the runway. The engines revved and roared louder and louder as the pilots throttled up for takeoff. Then I was shoved back into my seat, and my stomach sank as the plane raced down the runway and leaped into the air.

"We're in the air, Mark sent to him. "Your mom and Antsy are with me.*

*Good! I could feel the relief in his thought. He was worried about me. I wanted to cry again. Why should he be worried? I wasn't the one captured by our enemy. The plane banked, turning to take us to Kansas and the decommissioned missile silo that was our emergency bunker.

Mark Glassner

I felt relief wash through me. Mary and my family were safe; that was one less thing to worry about.

I lay facedown on the street, a soldier's boot pressed into the back of my neck, the cold barrel of his M16 touching my cheek. My hands were zip-tied behind my back, a disgusting rag was shoved into my mouth and tied in place by a strip of cloth wrapped around my head. 51 lay next to me; the butt of a rifle had slammed into her face, opening a gash across her eyebrow.

"Up!" a soldier shouted and the one standing on my neck released me and hauled me to my feet.

Several tan Humvees rolled up. I saw 27 in the backseat of one of the Humvees and Desiree sat next to her. But I didn't see Violet or Leah. Maybe they got away? Unless they were dead. I pushed that thought away as they forced me into the second Humvee. 51 was pushed in after me, her body leaning up against me. There was a dazed look in her eyes.

The Humvee drove off, heading back down to the courthouse. We passed columns of big, bulky armored vehicles bristling with weapons. Strykers, I think they were called, carrying infantry. More soldiers were guarding intersections; one would be manning a 50 cal machine gun while two more stood by holding M16s. Then we passed the wreckage of the firefight in front of the courthouse. Some of the soldiers were clearing away the shot up police cruisers, while others carried bodies to a waiting truck. And it wasn't only dead police officers they carried, but civilians attending the gun-buyback that had gotten caught in the crossfire.

More civilians were sitting on their hands in the square before the Courthouse, watched over by dozens of soldiers. Some of the crowd looked scared, others were bewildered. They couldn't believe that US Soldiers would attack them. That didn't happen in America. That happened off overseas in some despotic country like Syria or North Korea. Not here. Not in America. A few had defiant looks on their faces, staring angrily at the Soldiers. Off to the side, the media were guarded by more soldiers, but they were being allowed to continue reporting. I could see all the cameras pointing at our convoy of Humvees, ready to broadcast my humiliation to the world.

And probably my execution, I thought bleakly.

The Humvees stopped in front of the courthouse, the door opened, and a soldier hauled me out. I saw his face. He was young, maybe eighteen, his eyes bright blue. There was a hard cast to his youthful features, his grip Iron on my arm as he pushed me forward. I stood up straight as the eyes of the captured civilians fell on me. Shock and horror filled the faces of those that believed I was a God, then despair filled their eyes.

Guilt filled me. I had let them down. I wasn't strong enough to protect them. But what could I do against an army? My greatest power was nullified by the Zimmah ritual. How could a Warlock put so many under his power? Every soldier I saw had their black aura fringed with a trace of red, the sign that they were bound by the spell. What could I do? What could Mary do? Despair crashed through my soul.

How was I getting out of this?

As we approached the courthouse the doors opened and a short, fat man in an expensive Italian suit, charcoal gray, stepped out. He was balding, his hair gray, and a look of triumph filled his eyes. I recognized him, Brandon Fitzsimmons. How the hell had Brandon bound anyone with the Zimmah spell? His mother was dead.

A male Warlock needed his mother to perform the spell.