EPILOGUE

The man’s screams bounce off the walls as they drag him through the hallway, one ravager on each arm, making his struggle useless.

“Please, let me go. Please, I beg you. I can give you food. Water. Whatever you need.”

His pleas fall on deaf ears. The ravagers haul him into the room at the end of the hall and toward the light of the huge fire burning in the center of the area.

A man sits by the fire on a raised platform, surrounded by a bevy of others, almost like royalty. His green mohawk lists to the side as he picks at the scar on his cheek. A leftover from a piercing that long ago had been ripped from his skin. His eyes shine bright in the firelight as he stares eagerly at the new offering standing at his feet.

“What do you want done with him, Gunner? Throw him in with the others or string him up?”

Gunner pulls his knife and studies it before jumping down from his chair. He stands directly in front of the prisoner, staring up at the taller man in silence.

“I can give you things,” the man pleads again, his eyes bulging with his terror. “Whatever you want. You don’t have to do this.”

Gunner tilts his head to the side and studies the man. “But that’s where you’re wrong my friend. I do have to do this.” He points the knife at the man’s throat, and the Adam’s apple bobs up and down in fear.

“Please.” A wet spot forms on his pants and spreads down his leg. “I have a whole storage full of food. Water. I can give you food! You don’t need me.”

Gunner nods slowly as if agreeing. “You’re right. I don’t need you. Not at all. But there are others who do.” He stares into the man’s eyes. A stare glittering with the fathomless depth of madness.

“I beg you.” The man’s voice is a mere broken whisper now, as if he knows his fate is sealed. “I don’t want to die.”

“Die?” Gunner raises a brow. “My friend, you aren’t going to die. In fact, just the opposite. You are going to live forever. How exhilarating is that? Your sacrifice here today will continue life. A life filled with so much promise for a novel and exciting new world. Not many people get to do that.” He pokes the man in his chest with a dirt encrusted nail. “You should feel honored. So, stop your whining. Embrace the future.”

Gunner jerks the knife toward the rope hanging on a crudely erected pole on the other side of the room. The guards start dragging the man there as a chanting begins to spread around the room. A chanting that seems to terrify the prisoner mute. His eyes roll to the back of his head, only the whites showing. His lips move, murmuring bits and pieces of some long-ago forgotten prayer. By the time the ropes are bound around his ankles and he’s yanked upside-down, he’s already passed out. A mercy, really. He doesn’t hear as the chanting rises to a crescendo of insanity. He doesn’t see the silver bowl placed underneath his head. Doesn’t feel the blade as it slits his throat straight across, and his life’s blood drips into the container. It doesn’t take him long to die, strung up like a pig at slaughter. They leave him there, his body swaying quietly back and forth as he soils himself in death.

Gunner leads them all into another chamber like he’s leading a revered procession. Their excited chanting increases as they enter, bouncing off the walls of the high vaulted room. In the center of the room sits a large pod. It appears almost alabaster at first, but as Gunner approaches with the blood, the pod begins to glow. Fine lines appear through it, like a spidery network of arteries and veins. Gunner places the bowl at the base of the pod and bows his head in reverence.

“An offering for you, my Queen, from your humble subjects. Along with the promise that we will protect you until you can be rejoined by your brethren. Doesn’t matter how long it takes. We will wait with bated breath until your time returns.”

Gunner turns back to his people, unconcerned with the gray appendage that seems to grow at the base of the pod. The worm slithers its way across the floor to the coppery offering. It sucks at it greedily, the gossamer veins in the pod pulsating with pleasure.

“Guardians give thanks to our queen. Assure her of your belief that our time will rise again. To the new world.”

He raises his hands up, stretching them toward the ceiling as dozens of voices join with his to become one single, chilling chant. The chant is on their lips, in their eyes, in their very soul.

“To the new world!”

The End